"Belle, there's something—" he began.
"Good gracious! Where? What?" she cried, looking about her keenly.
"It's something I want to say—must say," Dave went on with more of an effort than anyone but himself could guess.
"Tell me, as we're going down the street," invited Belle.
"Wha-a-at?" choked Dave. "Well, I guess not!"
He faced her, resting both hands lightly on her shoulders.
"Belle, we were pretty near sweethearts in the High School, I think," he went on, huskily, but looking her straight in the eyes. "At least, that was my hope, and I hope, most earnestly, that it's going to continue. Belle, I am a long way from my real career, yet. It will be five years, yet, before I have any right to marry. But I want to look forward, all the time, to the sweet belief that my schoolgirl sweetheart is going to become my wife one of these days. I want that as a goal to work for, along with my commission in the Navy. But to this much I agree: if you say 'yes' now, and find later that you have made a mistake, you will tell me so frankly."
"Poor boy!" murmured Belle, looking at him fully. "You've been a plebe until lately, and you haven't been allowed to see any girls. I'm not going to take advantage of you as heartlessly as that."
Yet something in her eyes gave the midshipman hope.
"Belle," he continued eagerly, "don't trifle with me. Tell me—will you marry me some day?"