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Oh, Alma, Alma, that's not a reason; that's an
excuse!"
"Leo--you don't understand."
"I'm afraid I--don't," he said, looking at her with a sudden intensity
that startled her with a quick suspicion of his suspicions, but then he
smiled.
"Alma!" he said, "Alma!"
Misery made her dumb.
"Why, don't you know, dear, that your mother is better able to take care
of herself than you are? She's bigger and stronger. You--you're a little
white flower, that I want to wear on my heart."
"Leo--give me time. Let me think."
"A thousand thinks, Alma, but I love you. I love you and want so
terribly for you to love me back."
"I--do."
"Then tell me with kisses."
Again she pressed him to arm's length.
"Please, Leo! Not yet. Let me think. Just one day. To-morrow."
"No, no! Now!"
"To-morrow."
"When?"
"Evening."
"No, morning."
"All right, Leo--to-morrow morning--"
"I'll sit up all night and count every second in every minute and every
minute in every hour."
She put up her soft little fingers to his lips.


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