Page:E Nesbit - The Literary Sense.djvu/231

Rh The father wondered at himself for being more sorry than glad.

Then the Lover went and told the Girl. He had told the father first to insure himself against any chance of yielding to what he knew the Girl would say. She said it, of course, with her dear arms round his neck. "I won't give you up just because you're ill," she said; "why, you want me more than ever!"

"But I may die at any moment."

"So may I! And you may live to be a hundred—I'll take my chance. Oh, don't you see, too, that if there is only a little time we ought to spend it together?"

"It's impossible," he said, "it's no good. I must set my teeth and bear it. And you—I hope it won't be as hard for you as it will for for me."

"But you can't give me up if I won't be given up, can you?"

His smile struck her dumb. It was more convincing than his words.

"But why?" she said presently. "Why—why—why?"

"Because I won't; because it's wrong. My