“Why, of course. If I do not think I can keep it, I do not make a promise. Why?”
“Well, I want you to make me a promise—and to keep it,” he said.
She looked past him, and then:
“It depends what the promise is.”
“I want you to promise to be my wife,” said Dick Gordon.
Her hand lay in his, and she did not draw it from him.
“It is . . . very . . . businesslike, isn’t it?” she said, biting her unruly underlip.
“Will you promise?”
She looked round at him, tears in her eyes, though her lips were smiling, and he caught her in his arms.
John Bennett waited a long time for his lunch that day. Going out to see where his daughter was, he met Dick, and in a few words Dick Gordon told him all. He saw the pain in the man’s face, and dropped his hand upon the broad shoulder.