“Yes. And you took to behaving very strangely towards me then, as I think I told you.”
“Shall I tell you something, dearest? I was beastly jealous of Pentridge.”
“Were you? Well, you needn’t be ever again. Shall I tell you something, dearest—only as a secret? He asked me to marry him.”
“The day he left?”
She nodded.
“I thought he would,” I said. “And—why didn’t you?”
“Because I greatly preferred some one else.”
“Who is the ‘some one else’?”
“If you will promise not to talk any more—you have already talked a great deal too much—I’ll tell you. You will? Well, then—” and the look upon her face was to my eyes simply heavenly, as she bent down her sweet lips to my ear, touched it with them, and whispered just one word: “You.”
I hardly know what the next few moments contained, except that it was far too radiantly blissful to put into mere words. Then looking down upon me, her cool hand lovingly moving over my forehead and temples, she said—