Her head was bent.
"Don't!" he said gently. "There is no cause. Didn't I tell you I would
shunt if you didn't want me?"
Still she was silent, her hand lying passive in his.
"Come!" he said. "I want to understand, don't you know. That note of
yours. You say in it that you accepted me for the sake of my money. Even
so. But I reckon that is more a reason for sticking to me than for
throwing me over."
He paused, but her head only drooped a little lower.
"Doesn't that reason still exist?" he asked her, point blank.
She shivered at the direct question, but she answered it.
"Yes; it does. And that's why I'm ashamed to go on."
"Why ashamed?" he asked. "How do you know my reason for wanting to marry
you is as good since I never told you what it was?"
She looked up then, suddenly and swiftly, and caught a curious glint in
the blue eyes that watched her.
"I do know," she said, speaking quickly, impulsively. "And that's why--I
can't bear--that you should despise me."
"Ah!" he said. "Do you really care what an outsider like myself thinks
of you?"
The colour flamed suddenly in her white face, but he went on in his
quiet drawl as if he had not seen it:
"If I thought it was for your happiness, believe me, I would set you
free. But, so far, you haven't given me any reason that could justify
such a step. Can't you think of one? Honestly, now?"
She shook her head.
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