"I'm listening," she said rigidly. Her eyes were fixed without motion
on the quiet water.
"Well, I want you to marry me," he exclaimed impulsively.
She said nothing. She waited.
"After next month, I shall have two hundred pounds a year. We could
be very comfortable on that--couldn't we?"
"Do you think so?" she asked.
"Well, I'll bet you a shilling there are a good many men in
London--married--who are comfortable enough on less. Besides, next
year it'll be two hundred and twenty."
"And you want me to marry you?"
"Yes. I'm offering you a comfortable home of your own. No more pigging
it like this in lodgings. You'll have your own house to look
after--your own drawing-room. I don't want to boast about it, but
don't you think it's a good thing for you?" He felt himself it was
a big thing he was offering--and so it was--the biggest he had. "What
I mean to say," he continued, "I'm a gentleman, you're earning your
own living. I'm going to make you your own mistress--"
"But I don't love you," she said quietly, overlooking with generosity
his insinuations about the position she held.
He gazed at her in amazement. "Why not?" he asked.
"Why not? Oh, why should you ask me a hard question like that?"
"'Cause I want to know.
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