Marcus took the hand and held it. "I am loth to part with you thus," he
said suddenly.
"There is only one fashion of parting," answered Miriam, striving to
withdraw her hand.
"Nay, there are many; and I hate them all--from you."
"Sir," she asked with gentle indignation, "is it worth your while to
play off these pretty phrases upon me? We have met for an hour; we
separate--for a lifetime."
"I do not see the need of that. Oh, the truth may as well out. I wish it
least of all things."
"Yet it is so. Come, let my hand go; the marble must be finished and
packed."
The face of Marcus became troubled, as though he were reasoning with
himself, as though he wished to take her at her word and go, yet could
not.
"Is it ended?" asked Miriam presently, considering him with her quiet
eyes.
"I think not; I think it is but begun. Miriam, I love you."
"Marcus," she answered steadily, "I do not think I should be asked to
listen to such words."
"Why not? They have always been thought honest between man and woman."
"Perhaps, when they are meant honestly, which in this case can scarcely
be."
He grew hot and red. "What do you mean? Do you suppose----"
"I suppose nothing, Captain Marcus."
"Do you suppose," he repeated, "that I would offer you less than the
place of wife?"
"Assuredly not," she replied, "since to do so would be to insult you.
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