It was at Pulpat’s on Saturday night and over a $1.75 bottle of water diluted with vin ordinaire that the proposal occurred.
“Wine makes me feel all tingly, doesn’t it you?” chattered Miss Masters gaily.
“Yes,” answered Merlin absently; and then, after a long and pregnant pause: “Miss Masters—Olive—I want to say something to you if you’ll listen to me.”
The tingliness of Miss Masters (who knew what was coming) increased until it seemed that she would shortly be electrocuted by her own nervous reactions. But her “Yes, Merlin,” came without a sign or flicker of interior disturbance. Merlin swallowed a stray bit of air that he found in his mouth.
“I have no fortune,” he said with the manner of making an announcement. “I have no fortune at all.”
Their eyes met, locked, became wistful, and dreamy and beautiful.
“Olive,” he told her, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Merlin,” she answered simply. “Shall we have another bottle of wine?”
“Yes,” he cried, his heart beating at a great rate. “Do you mean—”
“To drink to our engagement,” she interrupted bravely. “May it be a short one!”