"
He looked at her and his eyes almost burned, they were so strong in their
leaping desire to fling himself at her feet and adore her goodness and
sweetness and worldliness and wisdom from that vantage-ground of worship.
She choked a little at the glance and put her hands together in her lap
with a quick catching at self-control.
"And now the fun's all over and the work begins," she said, looking down.
"I know that," he asseverated.
She lifted up her eyes and looked at him so very kindly. And then--after a
little pause to gain command of word and thought she spoke again, slowly.
"Listen," she said, this time very softly, but very seriously. "I want to
tell you one thing and I want to tell it to you now. I had a good and
sufficient reason for helping you out with Aunt Mary; but--" She hesitated.
"But?" he asked.
"But I've no reason at all for helping your Aunt Mary out with you, unless
you prove worthy of her, and--"
"And?"
She looked at him, and shook her head slightly.
"I won't say 'and of me,'" she said finally.
"Why not?" he asked, a storm of tempestuous impatience raging behind his
lips. "Do say it," he pleaded.
"No, I can't say it. It wouldn't be right. I don't mean it, and so I won't
say it. I'll only tell you that I can promise nothing as things are, and
that unless you go at life from now on with a tremendous energy I never
shall even dream of a possible promising."
He rose to his feet and towered above her, tall and straight and handsome,
and very grave.
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