Prudence stood up impulsively. "Oh, I like you, but--" she threw out
her hands expressively. He took them in his, tenderly, firmly.

"But, Prudence," he argued, "that is because the woman in you isn't
awake. You may never love me--a dismal possibility, but it is true.
But don't you think it only fair that you should give me a chance to
try?"

"Oh, but that's just the point," she cried. "I do not want you to try.
I do not want to run any risk, at all. I wouldn't marry you if I did
love you--I told you that right in the beginning."

He still held her hands in one of his, caressing them slowly with the
other. "What is there about me that you do not like?" he demanded
suddenly. "There is something, I know."

And with her awful unbelievable honesty. Prudence told him. "Yes,"
she said, "that is true. I hated to mention it, but there is
something! Mr. Rayburn, I just can't stand the bugs!"

"Good heavens! The what?"

"The bugs! I can't bear for you to be near me, because I keep
wondering if there are bugs and things in your pocket. I'm afraid
they'll get over on me. Even now it makes me shiver when you hold my
hands, because I know you've been handling the horrible little
creatures with yours." He dropped her hands abruptly, and stared at
her. "And after you leave, I get down on my hands and knees and look
over the floor, and examine the chairs, to see if any have crawled off!