"
"Forgive me, darling!" he said, dropping on one knee before her and
bending over the cold little hand he had taken, until his dark head
almost rested in her lap. "Forgive me! You are too proud, Maruja,
to admit, even to yourself, that you have given your heart where
your hand and fortune could not follow. But others may not think
so. I am proud, too, and will not have it said that I have won you
before I was worthy of you."
"You have no right to be more proud than I, sir," she said, rising
to her feet, with a touch of her old supreme assertion. "No--
don't, Harry--please, Harry--there!" Nevertheless, she succumbed;
and, when she went on, it was with her head resting on his
shoulder. "It's this deceit and secrecy that is so shameful,
Harry. I think I could bear everything with you, if it were all
known--if you came to woo me like--like--the others. Even if they
abused you--if they spoke of your doubtful origin--of your poverty--
of your hardships! When they aspersed you, I could fight them;
when they spoke of your having no father that you could claim, I
could even lie for you, I think, Harry, and say that you had; if
they spoke of your poverty, I would speak of my wealth; if they
talked of your hardships, I should only be proud of your endurance--
if I could only keep the tears from my eyes!" They were there
now. He kissed them away.
"But if they threatened you? If they drove me from the house?"
"I should fly with you," she said, hiding her head in his breast.
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