Who could tell how soon somebody might come up
through the woods and interrupt their interview? He must make the
best use of his time. He must make haste to ask her.
Elma let her eyes drop, and her heart beat hard. She laid her hand
upon the easel to steady herself as she answered slowly, "You know
I like you, Mr. Waring; I like you very, very much indeed. You
were so kind to me in the tunnel. And I felt your kindness. You
could see that day I was--very, very grateful to you."
"When I asked you if you liked my picture, Elma," the young man said
reproachfully, taking her other hand in his, and looking straight
into her eyes, "you said, 'Like it? I love it.' But when I ask you
if you like me--ask you if you will take me--you only say you're
very, very grateful."
Elma let him take her hand, all trembling, in his. She let him
call her by her name. She let him lean forward and gaze at her,
lover-like. Her heart throbbed high. She couldn't refuse him.
She knew she loved him. But to marry him--oh no. That was quite
another thing. There duty interposed. It would be cruel, unworthy,
disgraceful, wicked.
She drew herself back a little with maidenly dignity, as she answered
low, "Mr.
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