I love you.'
She drew away a little.
'Oh, you needn't be afraid. I shan't touch you. Why won't you believe
me?'
'Do men always glare savagely like that at women they love?'
'Why won't you believe me?'
'How long have you known me?'
'All my life. A fortnight--three weeks. But that's a lifetime.'
'And what do you know about me?'
'Everything. I know that you're adorable. And I adore you.'
'Adorable--at moments. Do you know whether I am--married, for
example?'
'I know that if you are, I should like to kill your husband. Are you?
Tell me. Put me out of suspense. Let me go home and open a vein.'
'Have I the air of _a jeune fille_?'
'Thank goodness, no. But there are such things as widows.'
'And what more do you know about me?'
'Tell me--_are_ you married?'
'You may suppose that I'm a widow.'
'Thank God!'
She laughed.
'Will you marry me?' he asked.
'Oh, marriage is such a bore,' she reminded him.
'Will you marry me?'
'No,' she said. 'But you may give me a cigarette.'
And for a while they smoked without speaking.
'I hope at any rate you believe me now,' he said.
'Because you've offered to make the crowning sacrifice? By the bye,
what is my number?'
'Oh, don't,' he cried. 'You're the only woman I've ever cared a straw
for; and I care so much for you that I'd--I'd--' He stammered, seeking
for a thing to say he'd do.
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