“No, Arthur.”
“No one?”
“No one, Arthur.”
He rose, and, leaning over the railing of the verandah, looked at the sea. The mist that hid it was drifting and eddying hither and thither before little puffs of wind, and the clear sky was clouding up.
“There is going to be a storm,” he said, presently.
“Yes, I think so, the air feels like it.”
He hesitated a while, and looked down at her. She seemed very lovely in the half lights, as indeed she was. She, too, looked up at him inquiringly. At last he spoke.
“Mildred, you said just now that you would not marry anybody. Will you make an exception?—will you marry me?”
It was her turn to pause now.
“You are very good,” she murmured.