defiantly.

"Oh, yes, you will read them!" He pounded his gauntleted fist
on the rim of the wheel. "You mayn't answer them, but if I
can write the way I feel, I will bet you'll read them."

His voice changed suddenly, and he began to plead. It was as
though she were some masculine giant bullying a small boy.

"You are not fair to me," he protested. "I do not ask you to
be kind, I ask you to be fair. I am fighting for what means
more to me than anything in this world, and you won't even
listen. Why should I recognize any other men! All I
recognize is that _I_ am the man who loves you, that `I am the
man at your feet.' That is all I know, that I love you."

The girl moved as though with the cold, and turned her head
from him.


"I love you," repeated the young man.

The girl breathed like one who has been swimming under water,
but, when she spoke, her voice was calm and contained.

"Please!" she begged, "don't you see how unfair it is. I can't
go away; I HAVE to listen."

The young man pulled himself upright, and pressed his lips
together.