She turned away then in a pretty confusion, said, "Good-night," and
went slowly toward the door.
"Oh, come back!" he cried. "Tell me--you will write often?"
"Oh, yes; every--month."
"Month? Won't you write every mail?"
"Oh, Jerry!"
"Every week, then?"
"Will you?"
"I will, whether you do or not."
"Your ideas of friendship----"
"Are they too exacting?"
"No-o," she admitted, as if reluctantly. She was behind him now, her
hands clasped together tightly, her eyes glowing with the light of a
frightened purpose which was over-mastering her. He tried to turn and
see her, but she defeated this.
"Please come here," he begged.
She was silent, trying to breathe more naturally.
"Please----"
"What good will it do?" she asked at last. "I shall have to go, and
you--won't----"
"Won't--what?"
She crept up close behind his chair.
"--_say it_," she whispered.
He reached out his hand with a commanding gesture. "Nan, come here.
Say--what?"
She bent over the back of his chair and laid a soft, trembling hand on
each side of his face.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222