There was an annoying fly in the ointment, however. Her languorous
surrender to love, her physical confession of defeat at the hands of
that inexorable power, her sweet submission to the conquering arms of
the besieger, left nothing to be desired; and yet there was something
that stood between him and utter happiness: her resolute refusal to
bind herself to any promise for the future.
"I love you," she had said simply. "I want more than anything else in
all the world to be your wife. But I cannot promise now. I must have
time to think, time to--"
"Why should you require more time than I?" he persisted. "Have we not
shown that there is nothing left for either of us but to make the
other happy? What is time to us? Why make wanton waste of it?"
"I know that I cannot find happiness except with you," she replied.
"No matter what happens to me, I shall always love you, I shall never
forget the joy of THIS. But--" She shook her head sadly.
"Would you go back to your people and marry--" he swallowed hard and
went on--"marry some one you could never love, not even respect, with
the memory of--"
"Stop! I shall never marry a man I do not love. Oh, please be patient,
be good to me.
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