"We can't put it off." "No, we can't put it off," assented he, hesitation in his voice, gloom upon his brow.

"Though," he added, "you don't look at all well." With an effort: "Margaret, are you glad--or sorry ?" "Glad," she answered in a firm, resolute tone.

It became a little hard in its practicality as she added: "You were quite right.

We took the only course." "You asked me to be a little patient with you," he went on.
She trembled; her glance fluttered down.
"Well--I--I--you'll have to be a little patient with me, too." He was red with embarrassment.

She looked so still and cold and repelling that he could hardly muster voice to go on: "You can't but know, in a general sort of way, that I'm uncouth, unaccustomed to the sort of thing you've had all your life.