I was silly to do it; sillier to be ashamed of doing it. There's
a great deal of the callow schoolgirl in me yet, you see. The wise,
amused smile of a man can sometimes stampede my self-possession and
leave me blushing like any ninny in dire confusion. . . . It was very,
very mean of you--for the blood across your face did shock me. . . .
And, by myself, and in my very private thoughts, I do sometimes call
you--by your first name. . . . And that explains it. . . . Now, what
have you to say to me?"
"I wish to ask you something."
"With pleasure," she said; "go ahead." And she settled back, fearlessly
expectant.
"Very well, then," he said, striving to speak coolly. "It is this: Will
you marry me, Eileen?"
She turned perfectly white and stared at him, stunned. And he repeated
his question, speaking slowly, but unsteadily.
"N-no," she said; "I cannot. Why--why, you know that, don't you?"
"Will you tell me why, Eileen?"
"I--I don't know why. I think--I suppose that it is because I do not
love you--that way.
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