CHAPTER XI
I DON'T know how to put it—just exactly—what I've got to say, nor what to put first," he began. "There appears to be so much, but after last night, as I turned it over in my mind, it seemed pretty clear there was only one honorable thing for a man to say to any one he honored, as I do you. Of course I may be all wrong. I've been away from these parts so many years, there may be new ways and customs now, but I've got to say what seems honorable to me to say, and run the risk of making a mistake, haven't I, miss?"
"Of course," Reba murmured.
"I thought at first," he went on, "that first night, I mean, you might be one of the workers there—secretaries or something—one of those fine charity ladies. At least I did until you said you'd let me take you out somewhere. Even then I wasn't quite sure that you weren't just taking pity on me, until—until—you know, miss," he said to her, in a low confidential voice. "Oh, I want you to feel sure," he told her earnestly, "that when anybody so—so—so—anybody like you—through some miracle of heaven lets me see her so often, and lets me—lets me—I'm not a chap who has a girl in every port. I'm not just passing the time with you," he broke off. "I know I ought to have told you my honorable feelings, and laid bare my history to you, before I went so far as I did last night. I was ashamed afterwards. You had a right to know more about me. I took advantage of your ignorance."
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