Molly sat gazing at him, silent.
"I know what yu' meant," he told her now, "by sayin' you're not the wife I'd want. But I am the kind that moves up. I am goin' to be your best scholar." He turned toward her, and that fortress within her began to shake.
"Don't," she murmured. "Don't, please."
"Don't what?"
Why—spoil this."
"Spoil it?"
"These rides—I don't love you—I can't—but these rides are—"
"What are they?"
"My greatest pleasure. There! And, please, I want them to go on so."
"Go on so! I don't reckon yu' know what you're sayin'. Yu' might as well ask fruit to stay green. If the way we are now can keep bein' enough for you, it can't for me. A pleasure to you, is it? Well, to me it is—I don't know what to call it. I come to yu' and I hate it, and I come again and I hate it, and I ache and grieve all over when I go. No! You will have to think of some other way than just invitin' me to keep green."
"If I am to see you—" began the girl.
"You're not to see me. Not like this. I can stay away easier than what I am doin'."
"Will you do me a favor, a great one?" said she, now.
"Make it as impossible as you please!" he cried. He thought it was to be some action.
"Go on coming. But don't talk to me about—don't talk in that way—if you can help it."
