She had run out just as her face cramped as though for tears.
When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie's hands
in his. "You don't mean that, do you?" he asked brokenly. "You don't
mean you'd go away if you could, Sylvie!"
At Hugh's voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks.
"If I make you quarrel, if I'm a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate
me so!"
"But I"--he said--"I love you." He drew her head--she was sitting
in her chair again--against his side. "No, don't smile at me like
that; I don't mean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly.
Can't you feel how I love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don't
be frightened. There, now you know how I love you!"
He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him.
"How can a man like you love _me_?" she asked with wistful
uncertainty.
"A man like me?" Hugh groaned. "Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay
with me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!"
"Now it frightens me," she whispered, "being blind. It does frighten
me now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you
mustn't marry a blind girl, a waif. You've been so noble, you've
suffered so terribly.
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