"Why not? We can take the motor—we won't be so very late—the others went in the carryall, you know."
He drew a long breath, and looked away from her. "All right," he said at last. "Go downstairs and get your cloak, if you left it there. I'll be with you in a minute."
She obeyed, without a word, but waited so long that she grew alarmed, and finally, unable to endure her anxiety any longer, she went back upstairs. Austin's door was open into the hall, but it was dark in his room, and, genuinely frightened, she groped her way towards the electric switch. In doing so she stumbled against the bed, and her hand fell on Austin's shoulder. He was kneeling there, his whole body shaking, his head buried in his arms. Instantly she was on her knees beside him.
"My darling boy, what is it? Austin, don't! You'll break my heart."
"The marvel is—if I haven't—just now. I told your uncle that I was afraid I would some time—that I knew I hadn't any right to you. But I didn't think—that even I was bad enough—to fail you—like this—"
"You haven't failed me—you have a right to me—I never loved you so much in all my life—" she hurried on, almost incoherently, searching for words of comfort. "Dearest—will it make you feel any better—if I say I'll marry you—right away?"
"What do you mean? When?"
"To-night, if you like. Oh, Austin, I love you so that it doesn't matter a bit—whether I'm afraid or not. The only thing that really counts—is to have you happy! And since I've realized that—I find that I'm not afraid of anything in the whole world—and that I want to belong to you as much—and as soon—as you can possibly want to have me!"
* * * * *
It was many months before Hamstead stopped talking about the "Graduation Ball of that year." It surpassed, to an almost extraordinary degree, any that had ever been held there. But the event upon which the village best loved to dwell was the entrance of Sylvia Cary, the loveliest vision it had ever beheld, on Austin Gray's arm, when all the other guests were already there, and everyone had despaired of their coming. Following the unwritten law in country places, which decrees that all persons engaged, married, or "keeping company," must have their "first dance" together, she gave that to Austin. Then Thomas and James, Frank and Fred, Peter, and even Mr. Gray and Mr. Elliott, all claimed their turn, and by that time Austin was waiting impatiently again. But country parties are long, and before the night was over, all the men and boys, who had been watching her in church, and bowing when they met her in the road, and seizing every possible chance to speak to her when they went to the Homestead on errands—or excuses for errands—had demanded and been given a dance. She was lighter than thistledown—indeed, there were moments when she seemed scarcely a woman at all, but a mere essence of fragile beauty and sweetness and graciousness. It had been generally conceded beforehand that the honors of the ball would all go to Edith, but even Edith herself admitted that she took a second place, and that she was glad to take it.