“Why not? They think she is unhappy. She isn't. She ran away and married a man she cared about. I may call you up some day and ask you to marry me!” she added, less tensely. “You would be an awfully good husband, you know.” She looked up at him, still angry, but rather amused with this new conceit. “Don't!” She was startled by the look on his face. “You see,” he said painfully, “what only amuses you in that idea is--well, it doesn't amuse me, Lily.” “I only meant--” she was very uncomfortable. “You are so real and dependable and kind, and I--” “I know what you mean. Like Jinx, there. I'm sorry! I didn't mean that. But you must not talk about marrying me unless you mean it. You see, I happen to care.” “Willy!” “It won't hurt you to know, although I hadn't meant to tell you. And of course, you know, I am not asking you to marry me. Only I'd like you to feel that you can count on me, always. The one person a woman can count on is the man who loves her.” And after a little silence: “You see, I know you are not in love with me. I cared from the beginning, but I always knew that.” “I wish I did.” She was rather close to tears. She had not felt at all like that with Pink. But, although she knew he was suffering, his quietness deceived her. She had the theory of youth about love, that it was a violent thing, tempestuous and passionate. She thought that love demanded, not knowing that love gives first, and then asks. She could not know how he felt about his love for her, that it lay in a sort of cathedral shrine in his heart. There were holy days when saints left their niches and were shown in city streets, but until that holy day came they remained in the church. “You will remember that, won't you?” “I'll remember, Willy.” “I won't be a nuisance, you know. I've never had any hope, so I won't make you unhappy. And don't be unhappy about me, Lily. I would rather love you, even knowing I can't have you, than be loved by anybody else.” Perhaps, had he shown more hurt, he would have made it seem more real to her. But he was frightfully anxious not to cause her pain. “I'm really very happy, loving you,” he added, and smiled down at her reassuringly. But he had for all that a wild primitive impulse which almost overcame him for a moment, to pick her up in his arms and carry her out the door and away with him. Somewhere, anywhere. Away from that grim old house, and that despotic little man, to liberty and happiness and--William Wallace Cameron.