A shadow crossed her face.
"David," she said, "I trust you, I know you are staunch and true. But,
dear, are you considering well? Are you sure that you will never
regret--this? No, don't speak yet, please. We must be frank with each
other. I am not a silly, romantic girl, believe me. I have faced and
can still face the real things of life. You are not driving yourself
to forget or to overlook all the conditions that surround me, are you?
I was a rider. My father was a rider. Oh, you are going to say that my
mother was different. But what has that to do with it? What does it
matter that she has brought me here, to this home of plenty and of
respectability and--well, let us say it, of position. I am the
granddaughter of Albert Portman. That may stand for something--yes, it
_does_ stand for a great deal. But do not forget, David, dear, that I
am the daughter of Tom Braddock. I am the granddaughter of old Stephen
Braddock, who was a--a--"
"Don't say it, dearest! Why should you be saying all this to me? You,
an angel among--"
"I must, David," she went on resolutely. "You have come here to ask me
to be your wife--to hold me to a promise.
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