Finally he said:
``Well?''
``I can't answer--yet,'' said she. ``Not to-day--
not till I've thought.''
She glanced quickly at him. Over his impassive face,
so beautifully regular and, to her, so fascinating, there
passed a quick dark shadow, and she knew that he was
suffering. He laughed quietly, his old careless,
indifferent laugh.
``Oh, yes, you can answer,'' said he. ``You have
answered.''
She drew in her breath sharply.
``You have refused.''
``Why do you say that, Donald?'' she pleaded.
``To hesitate over a proposal is to refuse,'' said he
with gentle raillery. ``A man is a fool who does not
understand and sheer off when a woman asks for time.''
``You know that I love you,'' she cried.
``I also know that you love something else more.
But it's finished. Let's talk about something else.''
``Won't you let me tell you why I hesitate?'' begged
she.
``It doesn't matter.''
``But it does. Yes, I do refuse, Donald. I'll never
marry you until I am independent. You said a while
ago that what I've been through had made a woman of
me.
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