The man bounded from his chair, and with a stride landed himself beside her. He had knocked over a smaller chair on the way, but this time he was untroubled by his clumsiness. He grabbed, rather than took, the girl's hand. She was afraid he would drop on his knees, and that would have been more than she could bear, because it was what Severance had done. But this stiff-backed soldier kept to his feet. He held her hand high, so high that the blood drained from it to her heart, and the little hand was white in his (save for the pink, polished nails) as a marble model. "You've changed your mind?" he asked hoarsely--because his mouth, too, was suddenly dry. "You know I love you more than any other man could. So you think, after all, you might grow to care?" "It isn't that," she had to tell him. "I haven't--exactly--changed my mind. This hasn't anything to do with 'caring.' Only, if you do love me--as much as you say--you might be willing..." She could not finish. She felt his fingers suddenly tighten on hers, then loose them, as if he would dash her hand away. He did not do this. But, looking up, the girl saw that the man's face was scarlet. She even thought that a few beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. What had she said to move him like that? "Why, she hadn't even begun! "What is it?" she inquired. "What is it you think I mean?" Her eyes were large and innocent as a child's. The blood ebbed slowly from the weathered face. "Whatever I thought, I don't think it now," he said harshly. "No one could, and look at you. Go on." "But," she argued, "perhaps what you thought was right. I can't be sure, unless you tell me." "I'd sooner die than tell you." "Well, then I had better try and tell you what I do mean. After that you can see if your thought was the same. If so, and you feel it is so dreadful, you may go, and turn your back on me without another word." "No, I wouldn't turn my back on you. Not even for that--now." The words left his lips heavily, like falling stones; and there was a strange look in his face. If it had come there in battle, it might have meant desperate courage which nothing could daunt and would have brought him a bar for his Victoria Cross. But being in a hotel salon, with no enemy present more dangerous than a beautiful young girl, it was only mulish. "Would you want to marry me if I didn't love you one bit, and if we--didn't live together, except as friends? You and mother and I, all in the same house?" He did not answer for a moment. Then he rapped out, "Do you need a husband to protect you--against some danger?" Marise shook her head. "It isn't so romantic as that. No one is persecuting me. I--cared a little for somebody. I thought maybe he and I might be married. But things have altered with him. He has to marry a very rich girl. I haven't got money enough, it seems--although he loves me." "The damned brute!" burst from Garth. (He knew who the "brute" was, well enough.)