I do not think you need to
be assured once more of my feelings; but, as you are leaving so soon, I
felt that I could not let you go without asking you to tell me--have I
any reason to hope that you will ever come to care for me?"
He was very pale, and seemed unable to say any more.
The little gush of vitality which had come into Evelyn as she ran
downstairs had left her, and she felt herself impotent. There was
nothing for her to say; she felt nothing. Now that he was actually
asking her, in his elderly gentle words, to marry him, she felt less for
him than she had ever felt before.
"Let's sit down and talk it over," she said rather unsteadily.
Mr. Perrott followed her to a curved green seat under a tree. They
looked at the fountain in front of them, which had long ceased to play.
Evelyn kept looking at the fountain instead of thinking of what she was
saying; the fountain without any water seemed to be the type of her own
being.
"Of course I care for you," she began, rushing her words out in a hurry;
"I should be a brute if I didn't. I think you're quite one of the nicest
people I've ever known, and one of the finest too. But I wish . . . I
wish you didn't care for me in that way. Are you sure you do?" For the
moment she honestly desired that he should say no.
"Quite sure," said Mr. Perrott.
"You see, I'm not as simple as most women," Evelyn continued.
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