Gentle as he was in speech and action, there was something irresistible about him at that moment—something to which Ruth yielded because there was no alternative. She went to him trembling, and he drew her down beside him, holding her every instant closer to him.
"Still frightened?" he asked her very tenderly. "Still wantin' to run away?"
She hid her face against him dumbly. She could not answer him in words.
He went on speaking, softly, soothingly, as if she had been a child.
"People make a ridiculous fuss about gettin' married," he said. "It's the fashion nowadays to make a sort of Punch and Judy show of it for all the people one ever met, and a few hundreds besides, to come and gape at. But you and I are not goin' to do that. We're goin' to show some sense, and get married on the quiet, in a little village church I know of; and then we're goin' into retirement for a time, and when we come out we shall be old married people, and no one will want to pelt us with shoes and things. Now I've got a weddin'-ring in my pocket, and I hope it'll fit better than the other. And I've got a special license too. It's a nice, fine mornin', isn't it? And that's all we want. Let's have some breakfast, and then go and get married!"
Ruth raised her head with a gasp. Unexpected as was the whole turn of events, she was utterly unprepared for this astounding suggestion.
"But—but—" she faltered.
And then for the first time she saw Tots's eyes, opened wide and looking at her with an expression there was no mistaking. He took her face between his hands.
"Yes, I know all that," he said, speaking below his breath. "But it doesn't count, dear—believe me, it doesn't. The only thing that is really indispensable, we have. So why not—make that do?"
"Oh, I don't know," she gasped. "I don't know."