"Suppose," he said, under his breath, "that I--wish--to return--to you?"
"_I_ do not wish it----"
"Try."
"Try to--to wish for----"
"For my return. Try to wish that you also desire it. Will you?"
"If you are going to--to talk that way--" she stammered.
"Yes, I am."
"Then--then----"
"Is there any reason why I should not, if we are engaged?" he asked. "We
_are_--engaged, are we not?"
"Engaged?"
"Yes. Are we?"
"I--yes--if you call it----"
"I do.... And we are to be--married?" He could scarcely now speak the
word which but a few moments since he pronounced so easily; for a totally
new significance attached itself to every word he uttered.
"Are we?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"Then--if I--if I find that I----"
"Don't say it," she whispered. She had turned quite white.
"Will you listen----"
"No. It--it isn't true--it cannot be."
"It is coming truer every moment.... It is very, very true--even now....
It is almost true.... And now it has come true. Sybilla!"
White, dismayed, she gazed at him, her hands instinctively closing her
ears. But she dropped them as he stepped forward.
"I love you, Sybilla. I wish to marry you.... Will you try to care for
me--a little----"
"I couldn't--I can't even try----"
"Dear----"
He had her hands now; she twisted them free; he caught them again. Over
their interlocked hands she bowed her head, breathless, cheeks aflame,
seeking to cover her eyes.
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