Potter shifted gears before he replied; then, of a sudden, it occurred to him that what he had to say presented some difficulties, and was, perhaps, of a nature to startle his companion.
“Garde,” he said, using for the first time the diminutive of her name, “you and I have been through some things together.”
“Yes, indeed,” she said.
“I think they’ve made us better acquainted than—than meeting at a thundering lot of parties and dances and that sort of thing. Don’t you feel that you know me pretty well?”
“Do you think I’d have written that note to you if I didn’t?”
He felt relieved. To be sure she must feel that way. She must think well of him, must have a certain confidence in him, to have summoned him in this emergency.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, a bit anxiously.
“To my house,” he said, and felt her start of astonishment. “I’ll tell you why.” He hesitated, and then blurted out, impetuously: “It’s because I love you, Garde. I want you to marry me. I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about me that way, but I’ve been bursting with you.... Yesterday morning when you came into the hangar I—I came pretty close to taking you into my arms right then.... I had to hold back.... The things that have happened to us—doesn’t it seem as if it were intended we should marry?... That’s why I’m taking you home. Mother will be waiting up—”
“Does she know?” Hildegarde asked, suddenly.
“No. I asked her to wait up for me.... I’ll leave you there and tear out after the license and a minister. I can get the license fixed up all right. The clerk is a friend of mine. And I’ll kidnap a minister.”