There was no answer except as the soft arms crept up round his neck.
“My dear child, what is it?” finding a little place in the forehead to kiss.
“Can I—do—” and the faltering voice paused.
“Just as you like, my darling. While I should be sorry to give you—to another,” and there was a pathetic little break in the voice; “still the young man is unexceptionable. I believe the Churchills would welcome you warmly. And marrying and being given in marriage is the way of the world.”
“Then—papa—” and the remainder of the answer was a long, tender kiss.
“I thought perhaps—Stephen Duncan—”
“Oh, papa, he doesn’t love me—in that way.
“But I know his secret, that is I once saw it gleam out like a tiny snow-drop in the sun. I am not to be the only happy girl in the world.”
Papa looked a little puzzled, then he sighed.
“Why,” said he dolorously—“there will be only five left!”