But the other would not be diverted for a moment. “I—I wish—pardon me, Miss Castleman, but I want you to tell me—what is your relation to him?”
“Why, really, Mr. van Tuiver——”
“I know I’ve no right—but I’m desperate!”
“But—suppose I don’t care to discuss the matter?” She was decided in her tone, for she saw that stern measures were necessary if he was to be checked.
But nothing could stop him—he was beyond mere convention. “Miss Castleman,” he rushed on, “I must tell you—I’ve tried my best, but I can’t help it! I love you—as I’ve never dreamed that a man could love. I want to marry you!”
He stopped, breathing hard; and Sylvia, off her guard, exclaimed, “No!”
“I mean it!” he declared. “I’m in earnest—I want to marry you!”
She caught herself together. She had not meant this to happen. She answered, with a tone of hauteur, “Mr. van Tuiver, you have no right to say that to me.”
“But why not? I am making you an offer of marriage. You must understand. I mean it.”
“I am able to believe that you mean it; but that is not the point. You have no right to ask me to marry you, when I have refused you my friendship.”