I don't know what you mean by 'can't' if you want to.
You say you like me.
Why can't you come to me?
You're my sort.
We will get along beautifully together.
You're suited to me temperamentally.
I'd like to have you with me.
What makes you say you can't come?"
"I can't," she replied.
"I can't.
I don't want to.
I oughtn't.
Oh, please don't ask me any more.
You don't know.
I can't tell you why."
She was thinking of her baby.
The man had a keen sense of justice and fair play.
Above all things he wanted to be decent in his treatment of people.
In this case he intended to be tender and considerate, and yet he must win her.
He turned this over in his mind.
"Listen to me," he said finally, still holding her hand.
"I may not want you to do anything immediately.
I want you to think it over.
But you belong to me.
You say you care for me.
You admitted that this morning.
I know you do.
Now why should you stand out against me?
I like you, and I can do a lot of things for you.
Why not let us be good friends now?
Then we can talk the rest of this over later."
"But I mustn't do anything wrong," she insisted.
"I don't want to.
Please don't come near me any more.
I can't do what you want."
"Now, look here," he said. "You don't mean that.
Why did you say you liked me?
Have you changed your mind?
Look at me." (She had lowered her eyes.)
"Look at me!
You haven't, have you?"
"Oh no, no, no," she half sobbed, swept by some force beyond her control.
"Well, then, why stand out against me?
I love you, I tell you—I'm crazy about you.
That's why I came back this time.
It was to see you!"
"Was it?" asked Jennie, surprised.
"Yes, it was.
And I would have come again and again if necessary.
I tell you I'm crazy about you.