“You are funny to-night, Quincy.”
“Not funny—just happy.”
Quincy took forcible possession of her half-resisting hand and slipped a diamond solitaire on the proper finger.
“Why, what are you doing? Isn't it a beauty? Is this the great Sawyer diamond? Whose is it?”
“It's yours. It is an engagement ring. It's the first step towards keeping my promise to Mr. Cass, and he's tenacious, you know. I told you all about it when I called this afternoon. So, please don't say 'this is so sudden.'”
“Are you crazy, Quincy?”
“No, sane. Delightfully so. I told Mr. Cass I couldn't marry you until to-day. I got the license this noon.”
They were passing through a dimly-lighted street, but, occasionally, the street lamps threw flashes across two earnest faces. She endeavoured to remove the ring.
“Mary,” said Quincy, “if you allow the ring to remain, I shall be a very happy man, dear,—for I love you. I have loved you ever since the day that I thrashed Bob Wood, and when I lay exhausted, you looked down at me with those beautiful blue eyes and said 'all for me!' I am all for you,—are you for me?”
He put his arm about her and drew her towards him; their lips met. A bright light shone in the auto windows—but they were sitting erect—they even looked primly.