"Oh, I don't think so. Probably her ankle was hurting her rather badly, only she didn't want to admit it." "Well, I thought she was angry. But never mind, let's talk about you." And he edged a little nearer. Elizabeth evaded the hand that hovered in the vicinity of her arm. "I'm so dull to talk about," she parried. "Let's talk about metaphysics!" He gripped her arm now in a grasp that there was no evading. "Why _will_ you always make fun of me, Elizabeth?" She was silent, her head drooped, and he, misunderstanding the movement, tightened his fingers. "I love you!" he said rather loudly in her ear, raising his voice to be heard through the wind. "When will you marry me, dearest?" "Oh, Lawrence, don't," she protested. "Some day, perhaps, or never. I don't know!" "But you _do_ love me a little, Elizabeth, don't you?" "No, not a bit; I don't love you at all." "But you would. I'd make you." "How would you make me?" He considered. "I don't know," he admitted lamely; "but I'd find a way, try me and see; it's not possible that I shouldn't find a way." He was very sincere, that was the worst of it. His eyes glowed fondly at her behind his glasses. "And, my dear, I could give you all you want," he added. "All I want, Lawrence?" "Yes, I mean we'd be rich." She stopped to consider him thoughtfully. A good-looking man, too well dressed; a dull man, too conscious of worldly success; a shy man, too shy not to be over-bold at times. A youngish man still, too pompous to be youthful. "Would you like to marry a woman who doesn't love you?" she asked him curiously. "I'd like to marry you, Elizabeth." "But why? I can't imagine why anyone should want to marry me." "I want to marry you because you're everything I love. My dear Elizabeth, if you were seventy I should still love you." "You think so now, because I'm not seventy." "Look here;" he said suddenly. "Is it still Joan that's stopping you?" She stiffened. "I said I didn't love you, isn't that enough?" He continued in his train of thought. "Because if it is Joan, you know, just think how we could help her, in her career, I mean. She'll need money and I have at least got that. If you'll marry me, Elizabeth, I swear I'll do more for that girl than I'd do for my own sister. Say you'll marry me, Elizabeth----" She pushed his hand away from her arm rather roughly. "If I married you," she said, "I should have to stop thinking of Joan's career; it would be your career then, not hers; and in any case money will never help Joan." "Why not?" "Because she's Joan, I suppose; she's not like anyone else in the world." He was silent, his rejected hand hanging limply at his side. Presently he said: "You do love that child. I suppose it's because you've had the making of her." "I suppose so; she's a very lovable creature." "I know. Well, think it over." "You're a patient man, Lawrence." "There's no help for it."