His modesty was so disarming that her face relaxed. She replied frankly:
“Really and truly I distrust those arts.”
Such kindliness informed her voice that he plunged.
“You are going back to your drudgery tonight. And I am up to my eyes in work also. So forgive me if I beat no bushes. You are too clever not to know what I want. Will you be my wife?”
“I—I don’t know,” she faltered.
His face fell, but he recovered quickly. He muttered disconsolately:
“What a muddle I’ve made of this!” And then a happy inspiration came to his rescue. He said awkwardly: “You see, dearest, it’s a first attempt, but you encourage me to hope that it may not be the last. May I try again?”
Cicely said desperately:
“I do feel such a fool. I—I don’t know my own mind, Arthur. It’s humiliating to say so.”
“Nothing of the sort. Let us mark time. I believe I fell in love with you when you were a tiny. Perhaps you will laugh at me when I tell you that I sneaked a hanky of yours before you put your hair up.”