Part 27 (1/2)
”I do,” he said pa.s.sionately.
”You didn't--want to.”
”No; frankly, I didn't want to; but I did--I do.”
”Why?” she asked curiously, watching the fine little lines about his eyes deepen.
”I've been fighting it since I met you--because--”
”Because I am a thief,” she finished unconcernedly. ”Do you remember that night when we were here alone--you started to tell me you loved me, didn't you?”
”Yes,” he admitted slowly.
”Then you _remembered_ what I was, and your love wasn't big enough to let you finish.”
”That wasn't the reason I hesitated,” he said quickly, ”then or--other times. The reason I didn't yield to my desire was because I knew it wouldn't be fair to Jo. Remember, I thought until Marta came that you were _his_.”
She looked her discomfiture.
”I forgot that,” she said in a low sympathetic tone.
”No;” he resumed meditatively. ”You don't know what a man's love is.”
”A man's love,” she replied, a slight catch in her voice, ”is infinitesimal compared to a woman's.”
”Let me show you, Pen. You shall love me! We'll go far away from here--”
”You're ashamed of me! Jo wouldn't ask Marta to go far away. Your's is a little love--a love that doesn't dare venture on an uncharted sea.”
”Pen,” he said tensely, ”I tell you that I love you! Don't you understand?”
He put his arm about her--bent down.
There was a quiet reproach in her star-like eyes as she drew away.
”Pen, will you be my wife?”
She put her hand to her forehead with an odd little motion. Her paleness became a pallor.
”You ask me that--you would--”
”Yes, I would. I did fight it. I didn't really know you until to-night.
You've been unreadable. Now I feel you are your real self. Not the daredevil who defied me and mocked me. Not the little meek mouse on the hearth. I love the woman you are to-night.”
”Am I like her--the best woman in the world?” she whispered.
”Yes,” he cried triumphantly. ”And you will grow more and more like her--the type of woman I want you to be. Don't you care for me--a little, Pen?”