“Yes, I am—I'm looking at you. I reckon you'll think me crazy, Miss Malroy-presumptuous and all that but I wish Memphis could be wiped off the map and that we could go on like this for ever!—no, not like this but together—you and I,” he took a deep breath. Betty drew a little farther away, and looked at him reproachfully; and then she turned to the dancing lights far down the river. Finally she said slowly:
“I thought you were—different.”
“I'm not,” and Carrington's hand covered hers.
“Oh—you mustn't kiss my hand like that—”
“Dear—I'm just a man—and you didn't expect, did you, that I could see you this way day after day and not come to love you?” He rested his arm across the back of her chair and leaned toward her.
“No—no—” and Betty moved still farther away.
“Give me a chance to win your love, Betty!”
“You mustn't talk so—I am nothing to you—”
“Yes, you are. You're everything to me,” said Carrington doggedly.
“I'm not—I won't be!” and Betty stamped her foot.