"You are going to ask me to marry you,
Leila Grey--" She was on her feet. "Take care," he cried, and a smile on
the strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst.
She said only, "Why?--I ask--you--why indeed?"
"Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect--because you have given
that which implies love, and all I ask--"
She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she found
herself able to say was, "I don't understand."
"You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon--I was not asleep--I had half
risen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see what
you would do or say when you should wake me up."
She was silent.
"And then you kissed me--"
"Oh, John! how wicked of you--why did you keep so still?"
"I waited--longing."
"For what?"
"Hoping you would kiss me again."
"What! twice?" she cried. "How could you think I would kiss you twice--I
was so ashamed--"
"Well, Leila?"
She began to feel that she was perilously close to tears, as he said
softly, "Leila Grey!"
"John Penhallow, will you take me--oh, John! I love you."
He caught her hand and touched it with his lips reverently.
"If," she cried, "if you do not give me back my kiss, I shall die of
shame."
He bent over her and kissed her forehead lightly, as though he were in
fear of too familiar approach to a thing too sacred for a rude caress.
Pages:
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653