“That kinder man doesn’t marry,” said Heloise quietly.
The basilisk glare of Diana’s eyes turned to Gordon, dumb and motionless.
“But he shall!” she said slowly.
Heloise went swiftly past her and fell on her knees at Gordon’s feet. He did not even attempt to draw his hands away when she clutched them. This nightmare would pass—he was sure of that. Monstrous things like this did not happen in a well-ordered world. He had only to keep quiet and calm and presently Trenter’s voice would say: “Eight o’clock, sir; I’m afraid it is raining.” Trenter always apologised for the weather. And he would open his eyes....
Through the haze of his dream came the moaning sound of Heloise pleading.
“Dan, you heard what the good young lady said. Marry me, Dan—won’t you marry me?”
Gordon smiled foolishly. To Diana it was devilish.
“Make me like I was when you took me from my li’l Connecticut home,” sobbed Heloise. Not for nothing had she played a small town tour with that masterpiece Rich Men and Poor Women. “Don’t you see it, Dan? The old farm an’ the old cows comin’ along the boardwalk, an’ can’t you hear the cracked bell of the chapel, an’ don’t you remember my old mother sittin’ right there on the porch read’n’ the good old Book? Make it come back again, Dan.”
Her voice rose to a thin, agonized wail. For a second Gordon returned to near normal.
“What do you mean by this tomfoolery?” he squeaked, trying to disengage his hand.