“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
And she only repeated. “What can he think of me? What can he think?”
Burnett straightened, a new thought coming to him. It seemed like an inspiration—a stroke of genius.
“Of course,” he said, calmly, “you’re hopelessly compromised. He must think what he pleases. There’s only one thing to do.”
She arose and breathlessly asked, “What can I do? How can I——”
“Marry me—at once.”
“Oh!”
She spoke the word slowly—wonderingly—as if the idea had never occurred to her before. He had left the way to the door unguarded, but instead she walked toward the window, and looked out over the roof-tops. To Burnett the silence was burdened with meaning, and he broke it timorously.
“Won’t you—won’t you, Millicent, dear?”