She was abashed, yet yielding; she let herself go, yet seemed not utterly unstrung.

Perhaps I was rough, held her too hard, for she cried out a little.
"Russ! Let me go.

Help me--back." I righted her in the saddle, although not entirely releasing her.
"But, Sally, you haven't told me anything," I remonstrated tenderly.

"Do you love me ?" "I think so," she whispered.
"Sally, will you marry me ?" She disengaged herself then, sat erect and faced away from me, with her breast heaving.
"No, Russ," she presently said, once more calm.
"But Sally--if you love me--" I burst out, and then stopped, stilled by something in her face.
"I can't help--loving you, Russ," she said.

"But to promise to marry you, that's different.