"You should not have made me wait so long," he said. "I don't know
how I have been living; every hour seemed like years. You should
have decided sooner."
"Decided?" Catherine asked.
"Decided whether you would keep me or give me up."
"Oh, Morris," she cried, with a long tender murmur, "I never thought
of giving you up!"
"What, then, were you waiting for?" The young man was ardently
logical.
"I thought my father might--might--" and she hesitated.
"Might see how unhappy you were?"
"Oh no! But that he might look at it differently."
"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.
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