"Cissy, help me to realise one at least of those dreams. Will you?"
She looked at him suddenly white, bewildered, a little doubtful.
"What do you mean, Douglas?"
"You were very dear to me in those days, Cissy," he said, leaning over and taking her fingers into his. "You have always been dear to me. Our plans for the future were always large enough for two. Take me into yours—come into mine. Can you care for me enough for that?"
She was silent; her face was averted. They were alone, and his fingers tightened upon hers.
"We never spoke of it in words, Cissy," he went on, "but I think we understood. Will you help me to leave the shadows alone? Will you be my wife?"
"You care—enough for that?" she asked, raising her eyes to his suddenly.
A moment's wild revolt—a seething flood of emotions sternly repressed. He met her eyes, and though there was no smile upon his lips, his tone was firm enough.
"I care—enough for that, Cissy," he answered.