“Oh no, it won’t rain,” he answered.
In a few minutes they had left the park and were following the same road that Henry and Emma had taken. But Ellen did not talk of the allegorical mystery of the spring, nor did Edward Milward set out his views as to the necessity of religion. On the contrary, he was so silent that Ellen began to be afraid they would meet the others before he found the courage to do that which, from the nervousness of his manner, she was now assured he meant to do.
At length it came, and with a rush.
“Ellen,” said Edward in a husky voice.
“I beg your pardon,” replied that young lady with dignity.
“Miss Graves, I mean. I wish to speak to you.”
“Yes, Mr. Milward.”
“I want—to ask—you to marry me.”
Ellen heard the fateful words, and a glow of satisfaction warmed her breast. She had won the game, and even then she found time to reflect with complacency upon the insight into character which had taught her from the beginning to treat her admirer with affected coldness and assumed superiority.
“This is very sudden and unexpected,” she said, gazing over his head with her steady blue eyes.