"I think I
want more. I don't know exactly what I feel."
He sat by her, watching her and refraining from speech.
"I sometimes think I haven't got it in me to care very much for one
person only. Some one else would make you a better wife. I can imagine
you very happy with some one else."
"If you think that there is any chance that you will come to care for
me, I am quite content to wait," said Mr. Perrott.
"Well--there's no hurry, is there?" said Evelyn. "Suppose I thought it
over and wrote and told you when I get back? I'm going to Moscow; I'll
write from Moscow."
But Mr. Perrott persisted.
"You cannot give me any kind of idea. I do not ask for a date . . . that
would be most unreasonable." He paused, looking down at the gravel path.
As she did not immediately answer, he went on.
"I know very well that I am not--that I have not much to offer you
either in myself or in my circumstances. And I forget; it cannot seem
the miracle to you that it does to me. Until I met you I had gone on in
my own quiet way--we are both very quiet people, my sister and I--quite
content with my lot. My friendship with Arthur was the most important
thing in my life. Now that I know you, all that has changed. You seem
to put such a spirit into everything. Life seems to hold so many
possibilities that I had never dreamt of."
"That's splendid!" Evelyn exclaimed, grasping his hand.
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