“Oh, I know that!” she said.

And then, moved by a curious impulse, she did an extraordinary thing.  She leaned forward and laid her clasped hands on his knee.

“I’m going to be—­awfully frank with you,” she said rather tremulously.  You—­won’t mind?’’

He sat motionless for a second.  Then very quietly he dropped his pipe back into his pocket and grasped her slender wrists.  “Go on!” he said.

Her face was lifted, very earnest and appealing, to his.  “You know,” she said, “we are not strangers.  We haven’t been from the very beginning.  We started comrades, didn’t we?”

“We should have been married by this time, if I hadn’t put the brake on,” said Burke.

“Yes,” Sylvia said.  “I know.  That is what makes me feel so—­intimate with you.  But it is different for you.  I am a total stranger to you.  You have never met me—­or anyone like me—­before.  Have you?”

“And I have never asked anyone to marry me before,” said Burke.

The wrists he held grew suddenly rigid.  “You have asked me out of—­out of pity—­and the goodness of your heart?” she whispered.

“Quite wrong,” said Burke.  “I want a capable woman to take care of me—­when Mary Ann goes on the bust.”

“Please don’t make me laugh!” begged Sylvia rather shakily.  “I haven’t done yet.  I’m going to ask you an awful thing next.  You’ll tell me the truth, won’t you?”

“I’ll tell you before you ask,” he said.  “I can be several kinds of beast, but not the kind you are afraid of.  I am not a faddist, but I am moral.  I like it best.”

The curt, distinct words were too absolute to admit of any doubt.  Sylvia breathed a short, hard sigh.

“I wonder,” she said, “if it would be very wrong to marry a person you only like.”

“Marriage is a risk—­in any case,” said Burke.  “But if you’re not blindly in love, you can at least see where you are going.”

“I can’t,” she said rather piteously.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said.

“No, not really—­not really.  It’s almost as big a risk for you as for me.  You haven’t bothered about—­my morals, have you?” Her faint laugh had in it a sound of tears.

The hands that held her wrists closed with a steady pressure.  “I haven’t,” said Burke with simplicity.

“Thank you,” she said.  “You’ve been very kind to me.  Really I am not afraid of you.”

“Sure?” said Burke.

“Only I still wish I were a boy,” she said.  “You and I could be just pals then.”

“And why not now?” he said.

“Is it possible?” she asked.

“I should say so.  Why not?”

She freed her hands suddenly and laid them upon his arms.  “If I marry you, will you treat me just as a pal?”

“I will,” said Burke.

She was still trembling a little.  “You won’t interfere with my—­liberty?”

“Not unless you abuse it,” he said.