I will do great things for you. Oh, Gyp, if you will some
day marry me! Not now. When I have proved. Oh, Gyp, you are so sweet--so
wonderful!"
His arms crept up till he had buried his face against her waist. Without
quite knowing what she did, Gyp touched his hair, and said again:
"No; please get up."
He got up then, and standing near, with his hands hard clenched at his
sides, whispered:
"Have mercy! Speak to me!"
She could not. All was strange and mazed and quivering in her, her
spirit straining away, drawn to him, fantastically confused. She could
only look into his face with her troubled, dark eyes. And suddenly she
was seized and crushed to him. She shrank away, pushing him back with
all her strength. He hung his head, abashed, suffering, with eyes shut,
lips trembling; and her heart felt again that quiver of compassion. She
murmured:
"I don't know. I will tell you later--later--in England."
He bowed, folding his arms, as if to make her feel safe from him. And
when, regardless of the rain, she began to move on, he walked beside
her, a yard or so away, humbly, as though he had never poured out those
words or hurt her lips with the violence of his kiss.
Back in her room, taking off her wet dress, Gyp tried to remember what
he had said and what she had answered. She had not promised anything.
But she had given him her address, both in London and the country.
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