Yet her curiosity, as well as her affections, had been
greatly stirred by his remark. What was it that he was about to say to
her? Did he intend, in spite of the insurmountable obstacles between
them, dared he, ask her to marry him? Tremblingly she waited for what he
had to say.
"Jane," he said, "you know that I love you. I am confident, too, that
you love me."
"I don't love you," she forced her unwilling lips to say. "I can't. When
our country is at war, when she needs men, brave men, how could any true
American girl love any man who stayed at home, who idled about the
hotels, who--"
"Girl," his voice grew suddenly stern and commanding, softening a little
as he repeated her name, "Jane, dear, let me finish. I love you. There
are grave reasons--all-important reasons--why I may not now ask you to
be my wife."
"I never could be your wife," she cried desperately, "the wife of a--"
The word died in her throat. She could not bring herself to tell him,
the man she loved, the thing she knew he was.
"My Jane," he said, wholly unheeding her impassioned protest, "you know
little yet of what life means in this great world of ours. You, here in
your parents' home, sheltered, protected, inexperienced, have not the
knowledge nor the means of judging me.
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