"We must be married," he repeated, patting her on the shoulder.
She shook her head in negation.
"Yes," he said firmly, mentally noting that this was the very first time he
had ever caught her in a pretense.
"No." Her tone was as firm as his. She lifted her head and put her cheek
against his. "It makes me very proud that you ask it. But--I--I do not----"
"Do not--what?"
"I do not want--I will not--risk losing you."
"But you won't lose me. You will have me more than ever."
"Some men--yes. But not you."
"And why not I, O Wisdom?"
"Because--because--do you think I have watched you all this time, without
learning something about you? The way to keep you is to leave you free. I
do not want your name. I do not want your friends I do not want to be
respectable. I want--just you."
"But are we not as good as married now?"
"Yes--that's it. And I want it to keep on. I never cared for anybody until
I saw you. I shall never care for anybody else. I never shall try. I want
you as long as I can have you. And then----"
"And then," Howard laughed or rather, pretended to laugh, "and then, 'Oh,
dig me a grave both wide and deep, wide and deep.' How like
twenty-years-old that is."
She seemed not to hear his jest and presently went on: "Do you remember the
evening before I left, down there at Mrs.
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