"Certainly I would, if I couldn't wake you up."
He looked into her mirthful eyes and lovely face. Oh, how lovely it was, flushed from heat and climbing! "Madge," he said, impetuously, "you have waked me—every faculty of my soul, every longing of my heart. Will you be my wife?"
Her face grew scarlet. She sprang to her feet, and asked, with half serious, half comic dismay, "Will I be your what!"
"I asked you to be my wife," he began, confusedly.
"Oh, Graydon, this is worse than asking me to be your sister!" she replied, laughing. "Your alternations fairly make me dizzy."
"Truly, Madge," he stammered, "a man can scarcely pay a woman a greater compliment—"
"Oh, it's a compliment!" she interrupted.
"No," he burst out, with more than his first impetuosity; "I'm in earnest. You, who almost read my thoughts, know that I am in earnest—that—"
By a strong yet simple gesture she checked him.
"You scarcely realize what you are asking, Graydon," she said, gravely. "I have no doubt your present emotion is unforced and sincere, but it requires time to prove earnestness. You were equally sure you were in earnest a short time since, and I had little place, comparatively, in your thoughts."