He stopped short, demanding to know what I meant.
"Of course," I continued, "Le Mire is a most amazing prize. Not
exactly my style perhaps, but there are few men in the world who
wouldn't envy you. I congratulate you.
"But there were two things I feared for several reasons--Le
Mire's fascination, your own youth and impulsive recklessness,
and the rather curious mode of your departure. I feared first and
most that you would marry her; second, that you would achieve
odium and publicity for our name."
Harry was regarding me with a smile which had in it very little
of amusement; it held a tinge of bitterness.
"And so," he burst out suddenly, "you were afraid I would marry
her! Well, I would. The last time I asked her"--again the
smile--"was this morning."
"And--"
"She won't have me."
"Bah!" I concealed my surprise, for I had really not thought it
possible that the lad could be such a fool. "What's her game,
Harry?"
"Game the deuce! I tell you she won't have me."
"You have asked her?"
"A thousand times. I've begged her on my knees. Offered
her--anything."
"And she refuses?"
"Positively."
"Refuses?"
"With thanks.
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