I thought
I could get along without your kind of women. I thought you were not
for me--with the work I have thought out to do in the world. If you
will not marry me I'll be glad to know now so that I can get my mind
straightened out."
Margaret raised her hand and laid it on his shoulder. The act was a
kind of acknowledgment of his right to talk to her so directly. She
said nothing. Filled with a thousand messages of love and tenderness
she longed to pour into his ear she stood in silence on the gravel
path with her hand on his shoulder.
And then an absurd thing happened. The fear that Margaret might come
to some quick decision that would affect all of their future together
made McGregor frantic. He did not want her to speak and wished his own
words unsaid. "Wait. Not now," he cried and threw up his hand
intending to take her hand. His fist struck the arm that lay on his
shoulder and it in turn knocked his hat flying into the road. McGregor
started to run after it and then stopped. He put his hand to his head
and appeared lost in thought. When he turned again to pursue the hat
Margaret, unable longer to control herself, shouted with laughter.
Hatless, McGregor walked up Drexel Boulevard in the soft stillness of
the summer night. He was annoyed at the outcome of the evening and in
his heart half wished that Margaret had sent him away defeated.
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