"Very well," he answered, as calm as ever. "That's just as you will.
I only meant to suggest it to you. My one wish is to do the best
I can for you. Perhaps"--and he hesitated--"perhaps I'd better
let it go on for an hour or two more, and then, whenever the air
begins to get very oppressive--I mean when one begins to feel it's
really failing us--one person, you know, could live on so much
longer than two... it would be a pity not to let you stand every
chance. Perhaps I might---"

Elma gazed at him aghast in the utmost horror. She knew what he meant
at once. She didn't even need that he should finish his sentence.

"Never!" she said, firmly clenching her small hand hard. "It's so
wrong of you to think of it, even. I could never permit it. It's
your duty to keep yourself alive at all hazards as long as ever
you can. You should remember your mother, your sisters, your family."

"Why, that's just it," Cyril answered, a little crestfallen, and
feeling he had done quite a wicked thing in venturing to suggest
that his companion should have every chance for her own life. "I've
got no mother, you see, no sisters, no family. Nobody on earth
would ever be one penny the worse if _I_ were to die, except my
twin brother; he's the only relation I ever had in my life; and
even HE, I dare say, would very soon get over it. Whereas YOU"--he
paused and glanced at her compassionately--"there are probably
many to whom the loss would be a very serious one. If I could do
anything to save you---" He broke off suddenly, for Elma looked
up at him once more with a little burst of despair.

"If you talk like that," she cried, with a familiarity that comes