He held out his hand to her in loving greeting, then he bent down and kissed her face.
"Such a kind, sweet face, Mattie," he said: "and it is sweeter than ever now."
He spoke truly. Mattie Brace had never been a pretty girl, but she was not far from being a beautiful woman. The rich brown hair was smooth and shining as satin; the kindly face had an expression of noble resolve that made it beautiful; the brown eyes were clear and luminous; the lips were sensitive and sweet. Earle looked at her with critical eyes.
"You please me very much, Mattie," he said. "Do you know what I have come all the way from London to ask you?"
"No," she replied, in all simplicity, "that I do not."
"I want you to be my wife, dear. I know all that lies between us. If I cannot offer you the enthusiastic worship of a first love, I can and do offer you the truest and deepest affection that a man can give. I always liked you, but of late have begun to think that you are the only woman in the world to me."
"Can I make you happy, Earle?" she asked, gently.
"Yes, I am sure of it."
"But I am not beautiful," she said, sadly.
An expression of pain came over his face.