"Yes, and I'm going right out now to distribute plates and napkins, and let them eat out in the moonlight; it's nearly as light as day, so don't worry another bit; the other big lamp will burn over two hours, yet, and you can empty enough from the little ones into this to make it go, and everybody but Dr. Barnett thinks it was bugs. Only hurry and come out;" and away fluttered Kittie, with the memory of Bea's brightened face, to provide the young guests with plates and expectations.
So, when Bea replaced the lamp in the parlor, with its blaze high and bright, and came out on to the porch, she found the merriest party imaginable, and there were generous saucers of cream going round amid "Oh's," and "Ah's" of satisfaction, and Kat following after them with an immense cake, its top shining white as snow in the moonlight. Bea knew only too well who was the author of all this generosity, and she seized the first opportunity of giving Ralph's hand a squeeze of inexpressible gratitude, to which he made answer by giving her a fraternal pat on the shoulder, as they stood in the shadow of the vine, and whispered slyly:
"Barnett's a trump, isn't he? I never saw anything neater."
Bea thought so and was treasuring up a little speech of thanks to make him when the good-night moment should arrive, but she didn't make it, for that moment turned out to be something so different from what she expected. It was this way. After having reduced the cake and lemonade to a state of bankruptcy, and made way with all the ice-cream, the young people strolled around the yard for a while in the moonlight, took rides in the Water-Rat across the pond, and then decided that it was time to go home, and began making their parting thanks accordingly; so that in a few moments every one was gone but Dr. Barnett and his sister; and that sister, with feminine quickness, understood that this moment might be the very one her brother wanted, so she engaged Kittie and Kat in a lively conversation, and together they all went up stairs for her wrappings.
"It was so kind in you," began Bea when she found that they were quite alone on the porch. "I don't know what I should have done, and it was so terribly mortifying, but then—" and there she came to a pause, for looking up, she met his eyes, wearing an expression, such as chased all further words from her lips, and made her forget entirely what it was that she was going to say next.
"Don't you suppose," began the young doctor rather hurriedly, "that it is very pleasant for me to know that I saved you any pain, and don't you know that I wish I might feel that you would give me the right to do so always? don't you, Beatrice?"
"Oh—I—don't know;" stammered Bea, with a foolish little quaver to her voice, and dropping her face clean out of sight, yet making no resistance when she found her hands imprisoned.
"Please look at me," was the first request, in very tender tones. "I need some encouragement. Won't you give me a little? If you love me ever so little, dear, won't you put your hand in mine again?"
Bea dropped her head still lower, all in a tremor of happy, shy delight, and looked at the hand which he had released, and was waiting to claim from her. Should she give it? She knew she would, even while she hesitated, for didn't she love him from the top to the bottom of her devoted little heart? Yes, of course she did. And didn't she foolishly think that the loveliest music in heaven could never be more delightful to listen to than his voice asking for her love? To be sure she did. Oh, it's wonderful how such times affect us all!
"I'm waiting, Beatrice," said Dr. Walter, with a very proper degree of beseeching impatience. "Don't you love me any, darling?"