Won't you let me take it ?" He had never before heard that tone from her; but he fought down the thrill of it and held himself rigidly calm.
"Oh, I don't know--the jug's doing all right, where it is," he evaded; what he wanted most was to get at her real object, and, man-like, to know beyond doubt whether she really cared.
"But you don't--you never touch it," she urged.

"I know, because--well, because every day I look into it! I suppose you'll say I have no right, that it's spying, or something.

But I don't care for that.

And I can see that it's worrying you dreadfully.

And if you don't drink any of it, why won't you let me have it ?" "If I don't drink it; what difference does it make who has it ?" he countered.
"I'm afraid there'll be a time when you'll yield, just because you are blue and discouraged--or something; whatever mood it is that makes the temptation hardest to resist.