"Tess, why did you say 'no' in such a positive way?" he asked her in
the course of a few days.
She started.
"Don't ask me. I told you why--partly. I am not good enough--not
worthy enough."
"How? Not fine lady enough?"
"Yes--something like that," murmured she. "Your friends would scorn
me."
"Indeed, you mistake them--my father and mother. As for my brothers,
I don't care--" He clasped his fingers behind her back to keep her
from slipping away. "Now--you did not mean it, sweet?--I am sure you
did not! You have made me so restless that I cannot read, or play,
or do anything. I am in no hurry, Tess, but I want to know--to hear
from your own warm lips--that you will some day be mine--any time you
may choose; but some day?"
She could only shake her head and look away from him.
Clare regarded her attentively, conned the characters of her face as
if they had been hieroglyphics. The denial seemed real.
"Then I ought not to hold you in this way--ought I? I have no
right to you--no right to seek out where you are, or walk with you!
Honestly, Tess, do you love any other man?"
"How can you ask?" she said, with continued self-suppression.
"I almost know that you do not.
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