"How sure I feel now that I love him," she thought.
"You've proved I owe you nothing!" she cried. "And that men and women of
our kind can work on splendidly side by side, and never bother our poor
little heads about anything else--even marriage!"
"We will, though!" he retorted. The next moment she was in his arms. "Now,
Deborah, listen to reason, child. Why can't you marry me right away?"
"Because," she said, "when I marry you I'm going to have you all to
myself--for weeks and weeks as we planned before! And afterwards, with a
wonderful start--and with the war over, work less hard and the world less
dark and gloomy--we're going to find that at last we can live! But this
winter it couldn't be like that. This winter we've got to go on with our
work--and without any more silly worries or talk about whether or not we're
in love. _For we are_!" Her upturned face was close to his, and for some
moments nothing was said, "Well?" she asked. "Are you satisfied?"
"No--I want to get married. But it is now a quarter past one. And I'm your
physician. Go straight to bed."
She stopped him a minute at the front door:
"Are you sure, absolutely, you understand?"
He told her he did. But as he walked home he reflected. How tense she had
been in the way she had talked. Yes, the long strain was telling. "Why was
she so anxious to get me out of the house," he asked, "when we were alone
for the first time in days? And why, if she's really sure of her love, does
she hate the idea that she's in my debt?"
He walked faster, for the night was cold.
Pages:
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255