How could I be? But I'm just
beginning to realize--though I thought I knew before--what a perfect hell
you've been through--and wondering if I can ever make it up to you."
"Then this doesn't seem to you dreadful--to have me ask for this?"
"Not half so dreadful as it would to have you look at me as you did on
Christmas night."
He began stroking her hair again, speaking reassuringly, his voice full
of sympathy.
"Don't cry, dearest--it's all right. There's nothing to worry over. It's
right that you should have your way about this--it's _my_ way, too, as
long as you feel like this. I hope you won't _too_ long--for--I love you,
and want you, and--and need you so much--and--I've waited a year for you
already. But I promise never to force--or even urge--you in any way, if
you'll promise me that when you _are_ ready--you'll tell me."
"I will," she sobbed, with her head hidden on his shoulder.
"Then that's settled, and needn't even be brought up again. Don't cry so,
honey. Is there anything else?"
"Just one thing more; and in a way, it's the hardest to say of any.
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