“Seriously, Allan; tell me.”
“I don’t know,” he said, drawing back so that he could see her rosy, tender face. “I started long before I knew it—away back when you were a little girl, I guess. I can see now how it grew and grew and made its foundation more and more secure, so that there was no shaking it; but I never woke to it till that night I came home from Cincinnati and you met me at the door. Then it struck me all of a sudden, and it was all I could do to keep from taking you in my arms—”
Mamie gave a delighted little wiggle.
“I knew it!” she said. “I saw it—and—I’m ashamed to confess it, Allan!”
“To confess what?”
“How badly I wanted you to—and how I tried to make you.”
He laughed delightedly.
“Really? Why, you little siren!”
“Yes; but then, you know, I’d loved you much longer than you had me.”
“How much longer?”