“Yes, I will be your wife,” she breathed.
“Tell me you love me,” he insisted.
“Ah, Joe—how can you ask!” came her quick reply between two kisses, seeking his lips of her own free will.
Frail as she was, he felt her strength, felt her young heart beating against his own, and for a long while he held her close in his arms.
Beneath the green boat the dark stream flowed on, purling, eddying, chuckling to itself. It is safe to say that never had so strange a thing happened in that hushed and lonely spot, to which the strong spruces can to this day bear witness, as well as an old owl (be he still alive), who saw it all from the hemlock with his big yellow eyes.
CHAPTER XIX
Before another month had elapsed, society learned of the engagement.
Society was “appalled”!
That the distinguished young architect, Mr. Joseph Grimsby, was about to throw himself away for life to marry a little nobody—a girl who sang for a living—was beyond their exclusive comprehension. Moreover, that there were several worthy mammas with débutante daughters who had actually set for him one of those splendid matches that nine times out of ten turn out badly, cannot be denied. In a twinkling this popular young man became the sole topic of gossip, having fallen so low in their estimation that they put him down as an erratic Bohemian—clever, no doubt, but a disgrace to the name of Grimsby.