But
even then in the face of that light which she had never before glimpsed
in any man's eyes for her, she was conscious of his use of her
name--vaguely conscious of how different it sounded on his lips.
"Barbara," Steve faltered, "Barbara, you blessed child, you!" And
there, dumbly, he shook his head over his stumbling utterance and tried
to laugh to cover it. "Sorry? Sorry for me? Why, God bless you,
girl, you refuse me whenever you want to--whenever you have to! I'm
not asking you to help. And don't you suppose after last night I know
how near to losing out I am? I understand. Why, you're going to get
quite a few refusals ahead of me, no doubt, before--before I catch up
with you! But don't you waste one bit of worry on me.
"It would be your telling me that you did care, and then telling me
that you didn't, that would about break me. I have to keep on asking
you; I have to keep on trying, but you can tell me 'no chance'
whenever, in your heart, you believe it to be the truth, and I'll take
it smiling. Just don't let it become mechanical, that's all I ask,
will you? And--and if some day after I've gone, you suddenly begin to
wish, even the tiniest bit, that you hadn't made the last refusal
quite--quite so final, you needn't let that worry you, either. Because
I'll be back! You can know that I'll come back, next day--next
month--next year--thirty miles or three hundred--oh, just to see if my
chances haven't improved any! That does make you smile, doesn't it? I
reckon experienced match-makers would tell me that that isn't the way
for me to talk if I'm going to win out.
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