He tried to say that he had, but he could not; he could only say, "I wish to ask it now more than ever."
She shook her head slowly. "I'm not sure how you want me to answer you."
"Not sure?"
"No. I'm afraid I might disappoint you again."
He could not make out whether she was laughing at him. He sat, not knowing what to say, and he blurted out, "Do you mean that you won't?"
"I shouldn't want you to make another mistake."
"I don't know what you"—he was going to say "mean," but he substituted—"wish. If you wish for more time, I can wait as long as you choose."
"No, I might wish for time, if there was anything more. But if there's nothing else you have to tell me—then, no, I cannot marry you."
Langbourne rose, feeling justly punished, somehow, but bewildered as much as humbled, and stood stupidly unable to go. "I don't know what you could expect me to say after you've refused me—"
"Oh, I don't expect anything."