She wrung her hands together with an unconscious gesture of despair.
"Yes," she said; and added feverishly: "of course."
"You think you've met the right man?" he pursued, his tone one of gentle
inquiry, as if he were speaking to a child.
She nodded. She was white to the lips.
"Yes," she said again.
He got up then with extreme deliberation.
"Well," he said, a curious smile flickering about his mouth, "that's
about the biggest surprise I've ever had. And I don't mind telling you
so. Sure now that you're not making a mistake?"
She uttered a little laugh that sounded hysterical.
"Oh, don't!" she said. "Don't! I have given you my answer!"
"And I'm to take you seriously?" questioned Kenyon. "Very well. I will.
But you mustn't be frightened."
He stretched out a steady hand, and laid it on her shoulder. She
quivered at his touch, but she did not attempt to resist.
"Don't be scared," he said very gently. "I know I'm as ugly as blazes;
at least, I've been told so, but there's nothing else to alarm you if
you can once get over that."
There was a note of quaint raillery in his voice. He did not try to draw
her to him. Yet she was conscious of a strength that did battle with her
half-instinctive aversion--a strength that might have compelled, but
preferred to attract.
Unwillingly, at length, she looked at him, meeting his eyes,
good-humouredly critical, watching her.
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