Marriage is a habit with her.
It has made her suspicious--"
"But you did deceive me, didn't you?"
"Will you marry me?" asked J. Wallingford Speed.
"The idea!" Miss Blake gasped. "Will you?"
"Please don't speak that way. When a man cares for a woman, he
doesn't deceive her--he tells her everything. You told me you
were a great runner, and I believed you. I'll never believe you
again. Of course, I shall behave to you in a perfectly friendly
manner, but underneath the surface I shall be consumed with
indignation." Miss Blake commenced to be consumed. "See! You
don't acknowledge your perfidy even now."
"What's the use? If I said I couldn't run, and then beat the
cook, you'd believe I deceived you again. And suppose that I
can't beat him?"
"Then I shall know they have told me the truth."
"And if, on the other hand, I should win"--Miss Blake's eyes
fell--"Helen, would you marry me?" Speed started toward her, but
she had fled out into the twilight.
Dusk was settling over stretches of purple land, and already the
room was peopled by shadows.
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