``I'll answer you as I answered
her--though she didn't ask me quite so directly. No, I am not in
love with him. We are too busy to bother about those things. We
have too much to do to think about ourselves.''
``Then--there is no reason why I should not ask you to be my
wife--why I should not hope--and try?''
She looked at him with a peculiar smile. ``Yes, there is a very
good reason. I do not love you, and I shall not love you. I
shall not have time for that sort of thing.''
``Don't you believe in love?''
``I don't believe in much else,'' said she. ``But--not the kind
of love you offer me.''
``How do you know?'' cried he. ``I have not told you yet how I
feel toward you. I have not----''
``Oh, yes, you have,'' interrupted she. ``This is the
second--no, the third time you have seen me. So, the love you
offer me can only be of a kind it is not in the least flattering
to a woman to inspire. You needn't apologize,'' she went on,
laughingly. ``I've no doubt you mean well. You simply don't
understand me--my sort of woman.''
``It's you that don't understand, Selma,'' cried he. ``You don't
realize how wonderful you are--how much you reveal of yourself at
once. I was all but engaged to another woman when I saw you.
I've been fighting against my love for you--fighting against the
truth that suddenly came to me that you were the only woman I had
ever seen who appealed to and aroused and made strong all that is
brave and honest in me.
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