Part 37 (2/2)
He made some inarticulate sound that questioned her.
”I've changed my mind. I can't marry you.”
He had to bend his head to catch her low, indistinct murmur; but he caught it.
He drew back from her, and leaned against the chimneypiece and looked at her more intently than before.
”Do you mean,” he said quietly, ”because of _them_?”
”Yes.”
He looked down.
”Poor Kitty,” he said. ”You think I'm asking too much of you?”
She did not answer.
”You're afraid?”
”I told you I was afraid.”
”Yes. But I thought it was all right. I thought you liked them.”
She was silent. Tears rose to her eyes and hung on their unsteady lashes.
”They like you.”
She bowed her head and the tears fell.
”Is that what has upset you?”
”Yes.”
”I see. You've been thinking it over and you find you can't stand it. I don't wonder. You've let those little monkeys tire you out. You've nearly got a sunstroke and you feel as if you'd rather die than go through another day like yesterday? Well, you shan't. There'll never be another day like yesterday.”
”No. Never,” she said; and her sobs choked her.
”Why should there be? They'll have a governess. You don't suppose I meant you to have them on your hands all the time?”
She went on crying softly. He sat on the arm of her chair and put his arm round her and dried her eyes.
”Don't be unhappy about it, Kitty. I understand. You're not marrying them, dear; you're marrying me.”
She broke loose from him.
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