"He hasn't made love to you?"
"Not a word—before God! Oh, it was too awful!" And with this she broke away from me, flung herself on her knees before a sofa, burying her face in it and in her arms. "Promise me, promise me, promise me!" she continued to wail.
I was horribly puzzled but I was immeasurably touched. I stood looking a moment at her extravagant prostration; then I said "I'm dreadfully in the dark, but I promise."
This brought her to her feet again, and again she seized my hands. "Solemnly, sacredly?" she panted.
"Solemnly, sacredly."
"Not a syllable—not a hint?"
"Dear Louisa," I said kindly, "when I promise I perform."
"You see I don't know you. And when do you go to Chantry?"
"Day after to-morrow. And when do you?"
"To-morrow if I can."