As Guy flung open the front door, a tall and slender figure in gray furs and a wide gray hat was coming up the walk. Eyes whose glance had long been his dearest torture met Guy Fernald's and fell. Lips like which there were no others in the world smiled tremulously in response to his eager exclamation. And over the piquant young face rose an exquisite colour which was not altogether born of the wintry air. The girl who for two years had been only "elusive" had taken the significant step of coming to North Estabrook in response to an eloquent telephone message sent that morning by Nan.
Holding both her hands fast, Guy led her up into the house—and found himself alone with her in the shadowy hall. With one gay shout Nan had driven away toward the barn. The inner doors were all closed. Blessing the wondrous sagacity of his womankind, Guy took advantage of his moment.
"Nan brought you—I see that. I know you're very fond of her, but—you didn't come wholly to please her, did you—Margaret?"
"Not wholly."
"I've been looking all day for my answer. I—oh—I wonder if—" he was gathering courage from her aspect, which for the first time in his experience failed to keep him at a distance—"dare I think you—bring it?"
She slowly lifted her face. "I thought it was so—so dear of you," she murmured, "to come home to your people instead of—staying with me. I thought you deserved—what you say—you want—"
"Margaret—you—"
"I haven't given you any Christmas present. Will—I—do?"
"Will you do!... Oh!"—It was a great explosive sigh of relief and joy, and as he gave vent to it he caught her close. "Will—you—do!... Good Lord!... I rather think you will!"