“I’ll put it up to him to-day, if you’ll let me. Honest, I don’t think it’s as much his affair as ours, but I’ll give him a chance. Shall I?”
She reached for his hand and pressed it.
“I’ll give him a chance, but I can’t wait. We haven’t time to bother with a wedding––do you mind that?”
“No, Don.”
“Then, if he doesn’t object––it’s to-morrow or next day?”
“You––you take away my breath,” she answered.
“And if he does object?”
“Don’t let’s think of that––now,” she said. “Let’s walk a little––in the park. It’s wonderful out here, Don.”
Yes, it was wonderful out there––how wonderful he knew better than she. She had not had his advantages. She had not had Sally Winthrop to point out the wonders and make a man feel them. Of course, it was not the place itself––not the little paths, the trees, or even the big, bright sky that Frances meant or he meant. It was the sense of individuality one got here: the feeling of something within bigger than anything without. It was this that permitted Sally Winthrop to walk here with her head as high as if she were a princess. It was this that made him, by her side, feel almost like a prince. And now Frances was beginning to sense it. Don felt his heart quicken.