Part 70 (1/2)
”Not the remotest. If he once gets a thing into his head, as he has this, nothing on earth will move him.”
”I won't let it make any difference to you,” she declared.
”What do you mean?” he asked quickly.
”That nothing, nothing will persuade me to marry you on Thursday.”
”What?”
”I mean it. I have made up my mind.”
”But I've set my mind on it, darling.”
”I'm doing it for your good.”
He argued, threatened, cajoled, pleaded for the best part of two hours, but nothing would shake her resolution. To all of his arguments, she would reply in a tone admitting no doubt of the unalterable nature of her determination:
”I'm doing it for your good, beloved.”
Shadows grew apace; light clouds laced the west; a hush was in the air, as if trees, bushes, and flowers were listening intently for a message which had evaded them all the day.
Perigal's distress wrung Mavis' heart.
”I can bear it no longer,” she presently cried.
”Bear what, sweetheart?”
”Your pain. My heart isn't made of stone. I almost wish it were.
Listen. You want me?”
”What a question!”
”Then you shall have me.”
He looked at her quickly. She went on:
”We will not get married. But I give you myself.”
”Mavis!”
”Yes; I give you myself.”
Perigal was silent for some minutes; he was, evidently, in deep thought. When he spoke, it was to say with deliberation:
”No, no, little Mavis. I may be bad; but I'm not up to that form--not yet.”
”I love you all the more for saying that,” she murmured.