Instead of looking up at him, she turned away, clasping her hands in her lap.
“Look up at me,” he repeated. “Why don’t you?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t again! Is it—is it for the same reason that you didn’t come here; didn’t write me? Tell me!”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to guess—but I daren’t, for if my guess was wrong, you’d never forgive me. But—I’ll risk it. I can’t wait any longer. It’s because you care more for me than you care for a mere friend. If that’s it, it’ll be all right and you shall have all your wishes.”
He noticed the quick heaving of her bosom and believed that it was love for him that stirred her.
“It’s just this: I love you, Marian, and if you’ll trust me I’ll do all I can to make you happy. Let me try.”
The revulsion from doubt to certainty was too great for her strength, and she burst into hysterical sobs as she hid her face in her hands.
“Marian, Marian,” he said, kneeling beside her, “just tell me—do you love me? Tell me, do you? Do you?”