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"
But
dearest
,
"
he
continued
in
a
palliative
voice
,
"
don
’
t
be
like
it
!
"
Oak
sighed
a
deep
honest
sigh
—
none
the
less
so
in
that
,
being
like
the
sigh
of
a
pine
plantation
,
it
was
rather
noticeable
as
a
disturbance
of
the
atmosphere
.
"
Why
won
’
t
you
have
me
?
"
he
appealed
,
creeping
round
the
holly
to
reach
her
side
.
"
I
cannot
,
"
she
said
,
retreating
.
"
But
why
?
"
he
persisted
,
standing
still
at
last
in
despair
of
ever
reaching
her
,
and
facing
over
the
bush
.
"
Because
I
don
’
t
love
you
.
"
"
Yes
,
but
—
"
She
contracted
a
yawn
to
an
inoffensive
smallness
,
so
that
it
was
hardly
ill
-
mannered
at
all
.
"
I
don
’
t
love
you
,
"
she
said
.
"
But
I
love
you
—
and
,
as
for
myself
,
I
am
content
to
be
liked
.
"
"
Oh
Mr
.
Oak
—
that
’
s
very
fine
!
You
’
d
get
to
despise
me
.
"
"
Never
,
"
said
Mr
Oak
,
so
earnestly
that
he
seemed
to
be
coming
,
by
the
force
of
his
words
,
straight
through
the
bush
and
into
her
arms
.
"
I
shall
do
one
thing
in
this
life
—
one
thing
certain
—
that
is
,
love
you
,
and
long
for
you
,
and
keep
wanting
you
till
I
die
.
"
His
voice
had
a
genuine
pathos
now
,
and
his
large
brown
hands
perceptibly
trembled
.
"
It
seems
dreadfully
wrong
not
to
have
you
when
you
feel
so
much
!
"
she
said
with
a
little
distress
,
and
looking
hopelessly
around
for
some
means
of
escape
from
her
moral
dilemma
.
"
How
I
wish
I
hadn
’
t
run
after
you
!
"
However
she
seemed
to
have
a
short
cut
for
getting
back
to
cheerfulness
,
and
set
her
face
to
signify
archness
.
"
It
wouldn
’
t
do
,
Mr
Oak
.
I
want
somebody
to
tame
me
;
I
am
too
independent
;
and
you
would
never
be
able
to
,
I
know
.
