I think I should go mad.
Marry me and you will learn to love me."
Beatrice glanced at him again, and a pang of pity pierced her heart. She
did not know it was so bad a case as this. It struck her too that she
was doing a foolish thing, from a worldly point of view. The man loved
her and was very eligible. He only asked of her what most women are
willing enough to give under circumstances so favourable to their
well-being--herself. But she never liked him, he had always repelled
her, and she was not a woman to marry a man whom she did not like.
Also, during the last week this dislike and repulsion had hardened and
strengthened. Vaguely, as he pleaded with her, Beatrice wondered why,
and as she did so her eye fell upon the pattern she was automatically
pricking in the sand. It had taken the form of letters, and the letters
were G E O F F R E--Great heaven! Could that be the answer? She flushed
crimson with shame at the thought, and passed her foot across the
tell-tale letters, as she believed, obliterating them.
Owen saw the softening of her eyes and saw the blush, and misinterpreted
them.
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