I. A. R. Wylie

“ I choose you before everything and it's like choosing happiness in preference to loneliness and sorrow. Won't you wait for me, Geoffrey? Won't you think of me as a poor girl for whom you must build a home and win fame? Do you care for your pride more than for me? ”

“ They looked each other full in the eyes with the open-hearted simplicity of youth that knows no mean subterfuges and reservations.
“Then we'll say what we think, shall we?”
“Thank you, Margaret.”
They lingered a minute longer and then walked on more slowly. The very carriage of Geoffrey Archdale's shoulders bespoke the thought that possessed him, but there was still something at once anxious and listless in his companion's mood that presently penetrated his momentary egotistical happiness.
“Margaret,” he said gently, “aren't you happy? Aren't you glad that we care for each other?” ”

“ Suddenly she slipped her arm through his and he felt, with a tremor of mingled pride and pain, how she clung to him; “Sometimes I'm frightened. There's been no one to turn to—not a friend—not a relation. I've the feeling of danger, of being afraid of I don't know what—as though some disaster hung over me. ”