“Mr. Latisan, this is folly. I’m only a waitress.”
“I’m thanking God that you are and that you aren’t too high above me, as I was afraid you were when I met you in New York. You’re down where I can talk to you.”
She started to walk away, but he leaped and seized both her arms. “This is going mighty fast,” he gasped. “I never talked to a girl in this way in all my life. I’ll probably never dare to talk to you if I wait for daylight to-morrow—I’ll be too scared of my thoughts overnight.”
She did not try to twist herself free from his grasp; she was more self-possessed than he was—he was trembling in all his frame.
“It’s like dynamite,” he stammered. “I reckon it was in me all the time! The first flash of your eyes lighted the fuse! I’ve blown up.” He pulled her close to him, flung his arms about her, and kissed her. But immediately he loosed her and stepped back. “I didn’t intend to do that! My feelings got away from me.”
“And now may I go along?” she inquired, coldly, after he had remained silent for a time.
“I’m sorry I have made you angry. I don’t know how to go at a thing like this one I’m tackling,” he said contritely. “But I feel that talking out straight and man fashion is the only way. Will you marry me?”
“Certainly not, sir!”
He did not attempt to stay her when she walked on. He trod humbly by her side.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t. But I couldn’t keep back the asking any more than I can push back that flood you can hear down in the gorge. It just had to pour along, that asking!”