And
at once he regretted his question. With a quick impatient look at him,
Allan bent over a book on the table.
"I don't know," Deborah answered. "Next spring, I hope." The frown was
still on her face.
"Don't make it too long," said her father brusquely. He left them and went
up to bed.
* * * * *
Deborah sat motionless. She wished Allan would go, for she guessed what was
coming and did not feel equal to it to-night. All at once she felt tired
and unnerved from her long exciting evening. If only she could let go of
herself and have a good cry. She locked her hands together and looked up at
him with impatience. He was still at the table, his back was turned.
"Don't you _know_ I love you?" she was thinking fiercely. "Can't you see
it--haven't you seen it--growing, growing--day after day? But I don't want
you here to-night! Why can't you see you must leave me alone? Now! This
minute!"
He turned and came over in front of her, and stood looking steadily down.
"I wonder," he said slowly, "how well you understand yourself."
"I think I do," she muttered. With a sudden twitching of her lip she looked
quickly up at him. "Go on, Allan--let's talk it all over now if you must!"
"Not if you feel like that," he said. At his tone of displeasure she caught
his hand.
"Yes, yes, I want to! Please!" she cried. "It's better--really! Believe me,
it is--"
He hesitated a moment, his wide generous mouth set hard, and then in a tone
as sharp as hers he demanded, "Are you sure you'll marry me next spring?
Are you sure you _hope_ you will next spring? Are you sure this sister of
yours in the house, on your nerves day and night, with this blind narrow
motherhood, this motherhood which frightens you--isn't frightening you too
much?"
"No--a little--but not too much.
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