"And now you have sent for me to tell me that at last he does so. Is that it?"
This hypothetical optimism gave the poor girl a pang. "No, Morris," she said solemnly, "he looks at it still in the same way."
"Then why have you sent for me?"
"Because I wanted to see you!" cried Catherine, piteously.
"That's an excellent reason, surely. But did you want to look at me only? Have you nothing to tell me?"
His beautiful persuasive eyes were fixed upon her face, and she wondered what answer would be noble enough to make to such a gaze as that. For a moment her own eyes took it in, and then—"I did want to look at you!" she said, gently. But after this speech, most inconsistently, she hid her face.
Morris watched her for a moment, attentively. Will you marry me to-morrow?" he asked suddenly.
"To-morrow?"
"Next week, then. Any time within a month."
"Isn't it better to wait?" said Catherine.
"To wait for what?"
