"You couldn't do anything I wouldn't forgive,"
"Couldn't I?"
He looked up at her, wistfully. "I love you, you know."
"Oh, please, please--"
"I love you," he said, trembling.
"Sam," she said--and in her distress she put her hand on his
shoulder--"you don't really care for me. I am so much older, and--there
are other reasons. Oh, why did I come here!" she burst out. "You
displease me very much when you talk this way!" She pushed her
chair back, and would have risen but for his detaining hand upon her
arm,
"Will you marry me?"
"No! of course I won't!"
"Why?"
"Because--" she stopped; then, breathlessly; "I only want to be let
alone, I came to Old Chester to be alone. I didn't want to thrust
myself on you.--any of you!"
"You never did," he said wonderingly. "You? Why, there never was
anybody so reserved, so--shy, almost. That's one reason I love you, I
guess," he said boyishly.
"You mustn't love me."
"Will you marry me?" he repeated. "Oh, I know; it is like asking an
angel to come down out of heaven--"
"An angel!"
"Mrs. Richie, isn't it possible for you to care, just a little, and
marry me?"
"No, Sam: indeed it isn't. Please don't think of it any more."
"Is it because you love him, still?"
"Love--_him?_" she breathed.
"He is dead," Sam said; "and I thought from something you once said,
that you didn't really love him. But if you do--"
"My--husband, you mean? No! I don't.
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