"I want to ask you something," she said--"merely to prove that you are a
little bit illogical. May I?"
He nodded, smiling.
"Could you and I care for each other more than we now do, if we were
married?"
"I think so," he said.
"Why?" she demanded, astonished. Evidently she had expected another
answer.
He made no reply; and she lay back among the cushions considering what
he had said, the flush of surprise still lingering in her cheeks.
"How can I marry you," she asked, "when I would--would not care to
endure a--a caress from any man--even from you? It--such things--would
spoil it all. I _don't_ love you--that way. . . . Oh! _Don't_ look at me
that way! Have I hurt you?--dear Captain Selwyn? . . . I did not mean
to. . . . Oh, what has become of our happiness! What has become of it!"
And she turned, full length in the swing, and hid her face in the silken
pillows.
For a long while she lay there, the western sun turning her crown of
hair to fire above the white nape of her slender neck; and he saw her
hands clasping, unclasping, or crushing the tiny handkerchief deep into
one palm.
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