For young Nisbet had dropped dish and bread-crumbs into the pool with a great splash, electrifying the gold-fish into unheard-of activity, and had risen, at the same moment, to his feet. He stood before her, his honest face blazing, his hands outstretched.
"I love you!" he said. "Will you marry me?"
And whether or not he received an audible reply to this question he never knew,—only she was in his arms, and gold-fish might feast or starve, for all he cared about them. The wide doors of perfect bliss swung open before him, and young Nisbet passed within.
He was gazing ruefully into the water, as Mrs. Rathbawne entered. For the first time in his experience, her presence did not embarrass him.
"I've dropped a dish into your pool, Mrs. Rathbawne," he said, "and scared the gold-fish into blue conniption fits. Look how they are scurrying around. I hope I haven't done them any harm."
"Oh, no," answered Mrs. Rathbawne placidly. "They are getting so fat that I should think a little exercise, now and again, would be good for them. We might drop a dish into the pool every week or so, Dorothy, just to stir them up."
"It might go for a while," said young Nisbet, "but any old football player like myself, Mrs. Rathbawne, will tell you that you can't work the same trick more than just a certain number of times."
"Interruption, for example!" added Dorothy, and laughed across at him, deliciously, with her eyes.