“No,” he softly replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure!”
“Not even Virginia?”
“I respect her, but do not love her—Oh, Hazel, do not keep me in suspense. Tell me you requite my love—promise to be mine, to cherish and protect forever”—and again he took her unresisting hand in his and drew her near him.
“Well, this is so serious that—don’t you think that I should have a little time to consider it?”
Her face had taken on a half-serious look, but the little cloud was quickly chased away by a happy smile.
Nor did it escape the eager eye of her sweet-heart. He saw that her hesitation was not to be taken seriously, and as a test he said in soft, tremulous accents: “Then the girl I would die for does not love me, does not care for me—”
Turning half around to him, in a pleading and half-reproachful way, she tenderly emphasized: “Oh, I do love you, Joe, with all my heart.” And throwing wide her arms, fell on his breast, with the joy of a maiden’s first love flushing her face.
And then their lips met—deep in the sweet intoxication of love’s first confiding trust.