``The truth is--'' she faltered, came to a full stop--
cried, ``Oh, I can't talk about it to-night.''
``To-morrow?'' he suggested.
``I--don't know,'' she stammered. ``Perhaps to-
morrow. But it may be two or three days.''
Stanley looked crestfallen. ``That hurts, Mildred,''
he said. ``I was SO full of it, so anxious to be entirely
happy, and I thought you'd fall right in with it.
Something to do with money? You're horribly sensitive
about money, dear. I like that in you, of course.
Not many women would have been as square, would
have taken as little--and worked hard--and thought
and cared about nothing but making good-- By Jove,
it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!''
She was flushed and trembling. ``Don't,'' she
pleaded. ``You're beating me down into the dust. I
--I'm--'' She started up. ``I can't talk to-night.
I might say things I'd be-- I can't talk about it. I
must--''
She pressed her lips together and fled through the
hall to her own room, to shut and lock herself in.
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