Page:Middle Aged Love Stories (IA middleagedlove00bacorich).djvu/305



For he knew that no boy’s heart ever beat more swiftly, no boy’s tongue ever sought more excitedly to find the right words. But when he faced her a little doubt chilled him: she was so calm and complete, in her sunny, busy, balanced life, that he feared to disturb that sweet placidity. With an undercurrent of fear, a sudden realization that he had no more the blessed egotism of youth to drive him on, he walked beside her, outwardly content, at heart a little solitary. At some light question he turned and faced her.

“You could not have all the greenhouses, but there could be plenty of flowers,” he said pleadingly.

“Flowers? Where?” she asked.

“Wherever we lived,” he answered. “And oh, Mary, I think we could be happy together! Don’t say no!” as she shrank a little. “Don’t, Mary, for heaven’s sake! I care too much—I care terribly. I am too old a man to