''
Mildred said to Cyrilla: ``No, don't move. We'll
go into the drawing-room.''
He followed her there, and when the sound of Mrs.
Brindley's step in the hall had died away, he began:
``I think I understand you a little now. I shan't
insult you by returning or destroying that note or the
check. I accept your decision--unless you wish to
change it.'' He looked at her with eager appeal. His
heart was trembling, was sick with apprehension, with
the sense of weakness, of danger and gloom ahead.
``Why shouldn't I help you, at least, Mildred?'' he
urged.
Whence the courage came she knew not, but through
her choking throat she forced a positive, ``No.''
``And,'' he went on, ``I meant what I said. I love
you. I'm wretched without you. I want you to marry
me, career or no career.''
Her fears were clamorous, but she forced herself to
say, ``I can't change.''
``I hoped--a little--that you sent me the note to-
day because you-- You didn't?''
``No,'' said Mildred. ``I want us to be friends.
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