"Ban, I've been undergoing a solemn preachment."
"From whom?"
"Archie."
"Is Densmore here?"
"No; he came over to Philadelphia to deliver it."
"About us?"
She nodded. "Don't take it so gloomily. It was to be expected."
He frowned. "It's on my mind all the time; the danger to you."
"Would you end it?" she said softly.
"Yes."
Too confident to misconstrue his reply, she let her hand fall on his,
waiting.
"Io, how long will it be, with Eyre? Before--"
"Oh; that!" The brilliance faded from her eager loveliness. "I don't
know. Perhaps a year. He suffers abominably, poor fellow."
"And after--after _that_, how long before you can marry me?"
She twinkled at him mischievously. "So, after all these years, my lover
makes me an offer of marriage. Why didn't you ask me at Manzanita?"
"Good God! Would it possibly--"
"No; no! I shouldn't have said it. I was teasing."
"You know that there's never been a moment when the one thing worth
living and fighting and striving for wasn't you."
"And success?" she taunted, but with tenderness.
"Another name for you. I wanted it only as the reflex of your wish for
me."
"Even when I'd left you?"
"Even when you'd left me."
"Poor Ban!" she breathed, and for a moment her fingers fluttered at his
cheek.
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