He sat silent when she had finished. She waited,
then said:
``Now, you see. I release you, and I'll take no more
money to waste.''
He looked at her with dumb misery that smote her
heart. Then his expression changed--to the shining,
hungry eyes, the swollen veins, the reddened countenance,
the watering lips of desire. He seized her in his
arms, and in a voice trembling with passion, he cried:
``You must marry me, anyhow! I've GOT to have you, Mildred.''
If she had loved him, his expression, his impassioned
voice would have thrilled her. But she did not love him.
It took all her liking for him, and the memory of all
she owed him--that unpaid debt!--to enable her to
push him away gently and to say without any show of
the repulsion she felt:
``Stanley, you mustn't do that. And it's useless to
talk of marriage. You're generous, so you are taking
pity on me. But believe me, I'll get along somehow.''
``Pity? I tell you I love you,'' he cried, catching
desperately at her hands and holding them in a grip
she could not break.
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