And when again he would have drawn her to him she eluded him, wide-eyed, flushed, lips parted in the struggle for speech which came at last, brokenly: "Dear, you must not take me--that way--yet.

I am not ready, Duane.

You must give me time!" "Time! Is anything--has anything gone wrong ?" "No--oh, no, no, no! Don't you understand I must take my own time?
I've won the right to it; I'm winning out, Duane--winning back myself.

I must have my little year of self-respect.

Oh, _can't_ you understand that you mustn't sweep me off my feet this way ?--that I'm too proud to go to you--have you take me while there remains the faintest shadow of risk ?" "But I don't care! I want you!" he cried.
"I love you for it; I want you, Duane.