"See here," he said at length as though utterance were difficult,
"there's something I've been wanting to say to you; I'd ought to have
said it before. I want you to marry me."
The girl still stared at him without moving. "I want you to marry me,"
he repeated, clearing his throat. "The minister'll be up here next
Sunday and we can fix it up then. Or I'll drive you down to Hepburn to
the Justice, and get it done there. I'll do whatever you say." His
eyes fell under the merciless stare she continued to fix on him, and
he shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. As he
stood there before her, unwieldy, shabby, disordered, the purple veins
distorting the hands he pressed against the desk, and his long orator's
jaw trembling with the effort of his avowal, he seemed like a hideous
parody of the fatherly old man she had always known.
"Marry you? Me?" she burst out with a scornful laugh. "Was that what you
came to ask me the other night? What's come over you, I wonder? How long
is it since you've looked at yourself in the glass?" She straightened
herself, insolently conscious of her youth and strength.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41