"Russ! Let me go. Help me--back."
I righted her in the saddle, although not entirely releasing her.
"But, Sally, you haven't told me anything," I remonstrated tenderly. "Do
you love me?"
"I think so," she whispered.
"Sally, will you marry me?"
She disengaged herself then, sat erect and faced away from me, with her
breast heaving.
"No, Russ," she presently said, once more calm.
"But Sally--if you love me--" I burst out, and then stopped, stilled by
something in her face.
"I can't help--loving you, Russ," she said. "But to promise to marry
you, that's different. Why, Russ, I know nothing about you, not even
your last name. You're not a--a steady fellow. You drink, gamble, fight.
You'll kill somebody yet. Then I'll _not_ love you. Besides, I've always
felt you're not just what you seemed. I can't trust you. There's
something wrong about you."
I knew my face darkened, and perhaps hope and happiness died in it.
Swiftly she placed a kind hand on my shoulder.
"Now, I've hurt you. Oh, I'm sorry. Your asking me makes such a
difference. _They_ are not in earnest. But, Russ, I had to tell you
why I couldn't be engaged to you."
"I'm not good enough for you.
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