“We are really the most amazing people, Leonard,” she declared. “You stumbled into my life once before when I was on the point of being turned out of my rooms. You've come into it again and you find me once more homeless. Don't spend too much money upon our dinner, for I warn you that I am going to borrow from you.”
He laughed.
“That's good news,” he remarked, “but I'm not sure that I'm going to lend anything.”
He leaned across the table. Their dinner had taken long in preparing and the dusk was falling now. Over them were the stars, the band was playing soft music, the hubbub of the streets lay far below. Almost they were in a little world by themselves.
“Dear Beatrice,” he said, “three times I asked you to marry me and you would not, and I asked you because I was a selfish brute, and because I knew that it was good for me and that it would save me from things of which I was afraid. And now I am asking you the same thing again, but I have a bigger reason, Beatrice. I have been alone most of the last two years, I have lived the sort of life which brings a man face to face with the truth, helps him to know himself and others, and I have found out something.”
“Yes?” she faltered. “Tell me, Leonard.”
“I found out that it was you I cared for always,” he continued, “and that is why I am asking you to marry me now, Beatrice, only this time I ask you because I love you, and because no one else in the world could ever take your place or be anything at all to me.”
“Leonard!” she murmured.
“You are not sorry that I have said this?” he begged.
She opened her eyes again.