Mrs. Randolph was glad that the conversation had been interrupted at that point. She had made up her mind to accept Stone’s offer when he should ask her to marry him, but her immediate impulse was to procrastinate. She did not doubt that he would propose before he left her that afternoon, and yet she wanted to keep him at arm’s-length as long as she could. There were imperative reasons, she thought, why she should marry him; but she knew she would bitterly regret having to give up her liberty—having to surrender the control of herself.
“You don’t take sugar, I remember,” she said, as she poured out his cup of tea. “And only one slice of lemon, isn’t it?”
“Only one,” he answered, as he took the cup. “Thank you.”
There was a change of tone in his voice, and she knew that it was hopeless for her to try to postpone what he had to say. But she could not help making the effort.
“I’m so glad you like this tea,” she said, hastily. “It is part of a chest Miss Marlenspuyk had sent to her from Japan, and she let me have two or three pounds. Wasn’t it nice of her?”
But the attempt failed. The sailor had gulped his tea, and now he set the cup down.
“Mrs. Randolph—” he began, with a break in his voice.
“Mr. Stone!” she answered, laughingly; “that’s a solemn way of addressing me, isn’t it? At least it’s serious, if it isn’t solemn.”
“Mrs. Randolph,” he repeated, “what I have to say is serious—very serious to me, at least.”
Then she knew that it was idle to try to delay matters. She drew a long breath and responded as lightly as she could: