"Think of what the world would say."
"Who cares what it says? And, besides, it knows we were engaged once."
"And also that we quarreled and parted."
"And that we were once more united in London, where you did not despise the poor concert-singer. Were you not devoted to me then, when I had but few friends? Were you ashamed of me then?"
"Ashamed of you!"
"Once you threw me over," says Molly, with a smile that suits the month, being half tears, half sunshine. "Once I did the same by you. That makes us quits. Now we can begin all over again."
"Think of what all your friends will say," says he, desperately, knowing he is losing ground, but still persisting.
"Indeed I will, because all my friends are yours, and they will think as I do."
Two little tears steal from under her heavily-fringed lids, and run down her cheeks. Going nearer to him, she hesitates, glances at him shyly, hesitates still, and finally lays her head upon his shoulder.
Of course, when the girl you love lays her head upon your shoulder, there is only one thing to be done. Luttrell does that one thing. He instantly encircles her with his arms.