"I ought to say no, since I can't say yes. This isn't fair to you," she
murmured.
He protested that anything was better than no, and his protest was
manifestly eager and sincere; but a touch of resentment could not be kept
out of his voice. She should have a reason to give him, something he
could combat, disprove, or ridicule; she gave him no opening, he could
not answer an objection that she would not formulate. He pressed this on
her and she made no attempt to defend herself, merely repeating that she
could not say yes now.
"I've lost you, I suppose, and no doubt I shall be very sorry," she said.
At that he came up to her again.
"You haven't lost me and you never will," he said. "I'll come to you
again before long. I think you're strange to-day, not quite yourself, not
quite the old May. It's as if something had got between us. Well, I'll
wait till it gets out of the way again."
Not so much his words as his voice and his eyes told her of a love deeper
in him and stronger than she had given him credit for; he lived so much
in repression and exercised so careful a guard over any display of
feeling.
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