delightful smile at me.

"I love you," I said in an undertone, as we jostled closer on the
pavement.

She shook her head forbiddingly, but she still smiled. Then--"Be
sensible!"

The High Street pavement is too narrow and crowded for conversation and
we were some way westward before we spoke again.

"Look here," I said; "I want you, Marion. Don't you understand? I want
you."

"Now!" she cried warningly.

I do not know if the reader will understand how a passionate lover,
an immense admiration and desire, can be shot with a gleam of positive
hatred. Such a gleam there was in me at the serene self-complacency of
that "NOW!" It vanished almost before I felt it. I found no warning in
it of the antagonisms latent between us.

"Marion," I said, "this isn't a trifling matter to me. I love you; I
would die to get you.... Don't you care?"

"But what is the good?"

"You don't care," I cried. "You don't care a rap!"

"You know I care," she answered. "If I didn't--If I didn't like you very