Perhaps," he added deliberately,
"it would have been better had you let your common sense gain the
day."
I don't know why, but just at that moment the dear and haunting
dream of having been lifted out of deep waters and kissed back to
life, cradled in this man's arms, came to me with peculiar
poignancy. Of a sudden I laughed aloud.
"Oh, I'm just remembering a dream I had, when I was ill," I told
him, in answer to his look of surprise.
"It must have been a very amusing dream," said he, staring at me
thoughtfully.
"Oh, very! Quite absurd. But go on. You were by way of advising me
to marry The Author, were you not?"
His hands on the arms of the wicker chair clenched. He half rose,
thought better of it, and sank back.
"I was saying that it might have been better for you," he said,
breathing quickly. "In all probability you would have accepted him,
had I not been here to--blunder into the affair."
"He mightn't have asked me, if you hadn't been here to blunder into
the affair," said I, composedly. "Let us drop the subject, please. I
shall never marry The Author." It gave me a sense of relief and
freedom to hear myself say that.
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