“I don’t know,” said Margaret, rather dreamily.
“Because if he would—” Aladdin reached forward and took one of her hands in his two.
She let it lie there, and for a moment they looked into each other’s eyes. Margaret withdrew her hand.
“I know—I know,” she said. “But you mustn’t say it, ‘Laddin dear, because—somehow I feel that there are heaps of things to be considered before either of us ought to think of that. And how can we be quite sure? Anyway, if it’s going to happen—it will happen. And that’s all I’m going to say, ‘Laddin.”
“Tell me,” he said gently, “what the trouble is, dear. Is it this: do you think you care for me, and aren’t sure? Is that it?”
She nodded gravely. Aladdin took a long breath.
“Well,” he said finally, “I believe I love you well enough, Margaret, to hope that you get the man who will make you happiest. I don’t know,” he went on rather gloomily, “that I’m exactly calculated to make anybody happy, but,” he concluded, with a quavering smile, “I’d like to try.” They shook hands like the two very old friends they were.
“We’ll always be that, anyway,” said Margaret.
“Always,” said Aladdin.
“Mademoiselle!” Eugenie opened the parlor door and looked cautiously in, after the manner of the French domestic.