For Maggie, cynical, all-confident, and eighteen, was proving really a very poor adventuress.
"Please, Maggie"-- his imploring voice broke in upon her--"won't you answer me?
You like me, don't you ?--you'll marry me, won't you ?" "I like you, Dick," she choked out--and it was some slight comfort to her to be telling this much of the truth--"but--but I can't marry you." "Maggie!" It was a cry of surprised pain, and the pain in his voice shot acutely into her.

"From the way you acted toward me--I thought--I hoped--" He sharply halted the accusation which had risen to his lips.
"I'm not going to take that answer as final, Maggie," he said doggedly.
"I'm going to give you more time to think it over--more time for me to try.

Then I'll ask you again." That which prompted Maggie's response was a mixture of impulses: the desire, and this offered opportunity, to escape; and a faint reassertion of the momentum of her purpose.

For with one such as Maggie, the set purposes may be seemingly overwhelmed, but death comes hard.
"All right," she breathed rapidly.

"Only please get me back as quickly as you can.