What the ranch will be with all the heart taken from it, and the loneliness made twice as lonely by comparison, I grow desperate, and feel as if I could not let you go without at least risking the question. But Clover,—let me call you so this once,—no woman could consent to such a life unless she cared very much for a man. Could you ever love me well enough for that, do you think?” “It seems to me a very unfair sort of question to put,” said Clover, with a mischievous glint in her usually soft eyes. “Suppose I said I could, and then you turned round and remarked that you were ever so sorry that you couldn’t reciprocate my feelings—” “Clover,” catching her hand, “how can you torment me so? Is it necessary that I should tell you that I love you with every bit of heart that is in me, and need you and want you and long for you, but have never dared to hope that you could want me? Loveliest, sweetest, I do, and I always shall, whether it is yes or no.” “Then, Geoff—if you feel like that—if you’re quite sure you feel like that, I think—”