“Come, that means that you do love me a little. If so, let me be the judge of your fitness to be my wife,” he said, looking tenderly down on her bowed face.
“I know you must be the best judge,” she meekly admitted.
“Then, it is a settled thing. You are to be my own,” he whispered.
“If you think that a poor girl like myself can comfort you for the loss of Miss Anna—”
“Bosh! I beg your pardon, little love. But I don’t need comfort for the loss of Miss Anna. I require congratulations rather. Didn’t I tell you that I never was so glad of anything in my life? And didn’t I give you half a dozen reasons of being glad of it? I want you to be my love and joy. Come, darling, will you be my wife? Try to answer—”
She stooped and whispered—
“I will be anything you wish me to. If you should tell me to go and be a nun, I would go and be one.”
He was not more than half pleased with this answer, which he did not understand.
“So you only consent to marry me because I ask you to do it; and not because you love me, or because to do so would make you happy?” he asked.
Again her shy, soft eyes were lifted to his face with a pleading glance and then cast down.