228
FLAMING
YOUTH
‘Real old mellerdrammer stuff,’ thought Pat.
Sadly
she said: “What’s the use, Bobs? Ill never tell. He’d marry me if he could. Oh, you needn’t go guessing,” she added hastily. ‘‘You’ve never seen or heard of him. Word of honour.” He went over to the window and stood, staring out into the soft, grey drizzle of an early thaw. When he turned to her his face was set in a still resolution. “Pat, you’re absolutely certain that he can’t marry you?”
“Absolutely,” returned Pat, with the conviction of truth. “Then, will you marry me?” “Bobs!” She started to her feet, astounded, incredulous. “You’re joking.” “I’m in dead earnest.” The irrepressible coquette within her seized upon and dominated her. “Do you mean to say that you’re in love with me? With little Pat?” she crowed. “No.”
“Oh! The coquette retired, discomfited. “I’m offering you a marriage of safety; a marriage of form, only. I should never make any claim on you.” “I couldn’t,” she gasped, still in the grip of utter amazement.
“Do you see any other way out?” he asked with grim patience, “But why should you do it?” “Why shouldn’t I? I’d do it for your mother’s sake if for no other reason. It isn’t as if I had anything else to do with my life. You needn’t be afraid of my ever bothering you; and when the time comes, we can get a quiet divorce.”
