"Don't look so incredulous, Tom. I am in earnest. I mean what I say,
though it may be unmaidenly to say it. Try me, Tom; I will make you
happy, and, though at first I cannot love you as I did Guy when I sent
him that letter, the love will come, born of your great goodness and
kindness of heart. Try me, Tom, won't you?"

She kissed his thin, white hands where the freckles shone more plainly
than ever, and which Tom tried to free from her; she held them fast and
looked steadily into the face, which shone for a moment with a joy so
great that it was almost handsome, and when she said again, "Will you,
Tom?" the pale lips parted with an effort to speak, but no sound was
audible, only the chin quivered, and the tears stood in his gray eyes as
he battled with the great temptation. Should he accept the sacrifice?
Ought he to join her life with his? Could she ever learn to love him?
No, she could not, and he must put her from him, even though she came
asking him to take her. Thus Tom decided, and, turning his face to the
wall, he said, with a choking sob:

"No, Daisy--no. It cannot be. Such happiness is not for me now. I must
not think of it. Thank you, darling, just the same. It was kind in you
and well meant, but it cannot be. I could not make you happy. I am not
like Guy; never can be like him, and you would hate me after a while,
and the chain would hurt you cruelly. No, Daisy, I love you too
well--and yet, Daisy--Daisy--why do you tempt me so--if it could have
been!"

He turned suddenly toward her, and, winding both his arms around her,
drew her to him in a quick, passionate embrace, crying piteously over
her, and saying: