“You have given me your hand,” said Neal, “but you know I said I wanted your heart with it.”
Alison, suddenly subdued, and with a memory of those months of long waiting, dropped her flippant manner. “You have it, Neal,” she said very seriously.
“Then you think your knight has won his spurs?”
“All that knight ever won is not too much for you. I don’t care anything more for Sir Artegall. I am perfectly satisfied with Neal Jordan.”
“He is no such hero as you pretend,” said Neal, looking down at her and holding her hands in his. “There’s a good many kinds of sense I haven’t got, Alison, my darling, and I reckon I shall make you mad pretty often on account of what I lack, but I reckon even a smart lawyer couldn’t work out more ways of loving you.”
“As if you needed to tell me that,” she replied. “Is there another man in the world would have had sense enough to find Steve? Come, I want to speak to him, I have had no chance; and we want to hear the story of your adventures before you entirely give up your knightly character.”
“Just a minute longer,” begged Neal.
“No; we shall have a lifetime in most of which we shall have no society but each other’s; let’s be generous now and give some one else a share while we can,” and she ran into the house leaving him to follow.
Christine was sitting quietly by Steve’s side, her hand in his. John was pacing the floor. He stopped his walk as Alison entered, with Neal behind her. “Well, well,” he said, “I am the happiest man alive, to-night.”
“No,” said Neal, putting his arm around Alison. “I am the happiest man.”