t I'll attend to that if you'll
marry me--I'll guarantee that. I--I will guarantee--more than that."

She was still looking up, searching his sombre face. She saw the muscles
tighten along the jaw; saw the grave lines deepening. A sort of
bewildered fear possessed her.

"I--am not in love with you, Duane." She added hastily, "I don't trust
you either. How could I----"

"Yes, you do trust me."

"After what you have done to Rosalie----"

"You know that all is square there. Say so!"

She gazed at the floor, convinced, but not answering.

"Do you believe I love you?"

She shook her head, eyes still on the floor.

"Tell me the truth! Look at me!"

She said with an effort: "You think you care for me.... You believe you
do, I suppose----"

"And _you_ believe it, too! Give me my chance--take your own!"

"_My_ chance?"--with a flash of anger.

"Yes; take it, and give me mine. I tell you, Geraldine, we are going to
need each other desperately some day. I need you now--to-morrow you'll
need me more; and the day after, and after that in perilous days to
follow our need will be the greater for these hours wasted--can't you
understand by this time that we've nothing to hold us steady through the
sort of life we're born to except--each other----"

His voice suddenly broke; he dropped down on the couch beside her,
imprisoning her clasped hands on her knees. His emotion, the break in
his voice, excited them both.

"Are you trying to frighten me and take me by storm?" she demanded,
forcing a smile. "What is the matter, Duane? What do you mean by
peril?... You are scaring me----"

"Little Geraldine--my little comrade! Can't you understand? It isn't
only my selfish desire for you--it isn't all for myself!--I care more
for you than that. I love you more deeply than a mere lover! Must I say
more to you? Must I even hurt you? Must I tell you what I know--of you?"

"W-what?" she asked, startled.

He looked at her miserably. In his eyes she read a meaning that
terrified her.

"Duane--I don't--understand," she faltered.

"Yes you do. Let's face it now!"

"F-face what?" Her voice was only a whisper.

"I can tell you if you'll love me. Will you?"

"I don't understand," she repeated in white-lipped distress. "Why do you
look at me so strangely? And you tell me that I--know.... What is it
that I know? Couldn't you tell me? I am--" Her voice failed.

"Dear--do you remember--once--last April that you were--ill?... And
a