"I know I haven't done anything especially gallant to-night; no fighting, no rescuing, and all that. They just moved me around like a piece of stage scenery."
A smile flashed and was gone. It was a hopeful sign.
"But the results are the same. You have admitted to me that you are neither engaged nor married. Won't you take me on—on approval?"
"Mr. Comstalk, it all seems so like a horrid dream. You are a brave man, and what is better, a sensible one, for you submitted to the inevitable with the best possible grace. But you talk of love as readily as a hero in a popular novel."
"I never go back," said I. "It seems incredible, doesn't it, that I should declare myself in this fashion? Listen. For my part, I believe that all this was written,—my Tom-foolery in Mouquin's, my imposture and yours, the two identical cards,—the adventure from beginning to end."
Silence.
"Suppose I should say," the girl began, looking out of the window, "that in the restaurant you aroused my curiosity, that in the cellars my admiration was stirred, that the frank manner in which you expressed your regard for me to—to the burglar—awakened—"
"What?" I cried eagerly.
"Nothing. It was merely a supposition."
"Hang it; I do love you!"