You shouldn't
think about cotton, you should think about me. You can go to New
Orleans some other time--there will always be plenty of cotton. It
isn't the moment to choose--we have waited too long already." She
spoke more forcibly and volubly than he had ever heard her, and she
held his arm in her two hands.
"You said you wouldn't make a scene!" cried Morris. "I call this a
scene."
"It's you that are making it! I have never asked you anything
before. We have waited too long already." And it was a comfort to
her to think that she had hitherto asked so little; it seemed to make
her right to insist the greater now.
Morris bethought himself a little. "Very well, then; we won't talk
about it any more. I will transact my business by letter." And he
began to smooth his hat, as if to take leave.
"You won't go?" And she stood looking up at him.
He could not give up his idea of provoking a quarrel; it was so much
the simplest way! He bent his eyes on her upturned face, with the
darkest frown he could achieve. "You are not discreet. You mustn't
bully me!"
But, as usual, she conceded everything. "No, I am not discreet; I
know I am too pressing. But isn't it natural? It is only for a
moment."
"In a moment you may do a great deal of harm. Try and be calmer the
next time I come."
"When will you come?"
"Do you want to make conditions?" Morris asked.
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