"It means more than you think," she replied. "But I can't let you
say it--I can't let you continue to think it, until--until"--she took
a deep breath--"until I tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"I'll write to you."
"But you can tell me. Why can't you tell me?" His lips were white.
The little switch snapped in his fingers. Neither of them noticed
it. Neither heard the sound. "Why can't you tell me?" he repeated.
"I can't, that is all. After what you've said--after what you've been
so generous to tell me that you thought of me, I--couldn't. I'll write
it."
He threw the pieces of the switch away into the grass.
"You're going to be married?" he muttered. "You're in love, you're
engaged to some one else?"
"No, no, it's not that. Please don't ask me. I'm not engaged to be
married."
"You're married already?" He leant forward, bending over her, the
words clicking on his tongue.
"No--no--not even that."
"Then, what is it?"
She looked up to his eyes and let him read them. Then he stood
upright--slowly stood erect. His cheeks were patched with white,
there was a sweat on his forehead. He wiped it off with his hand.
"My God!" he whispered.
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