Ralph flung himself into his car, and started toward the McCullon farm at a pace which made those who saw him racing by say: “Something must have happened. Wonder if there’s been an accident.” His lips were set, his eyes flaming, his color high, the great hour of his life was at hand. He could go to Patsy with a clear, clean purpose—the one to which she herself was pledged. However long he had been in darkness, he had reached the light. He need not hang his head before her. Was it too late? The hot heart chilled at the thought, and the firm hand on the wheel trembled so that the car swerved almost into the ditch.
It took twenty minutes to make the run for which they all counted thirty short. It was nearly supper time when he sprang up the steps. Patsy herself opened the door; cool, serene, her guards all up. Who would have thought the cheerful, welcoming voice was the same that so lately had vibrated and broken over the ’phone? Her pose was lost on Ralph. It was not this but the voice of twenty minutes ago that rang in his ears. She might fence if she would. He must know—she should not put him away. He noticed she took him into the more private parlor of the house, not the family room where at this time Father and Mother McCullon were almost sure to be. She sensed something then, in spite of that infernal calm.
Ralph closed the door and disdaining the chair Patsy offered him in front of the fire, roughly seized her arm.
“Patsy, don’t pretend. You know why I’m here. I love you. I want you to marry me, marry me now. I’ve enlisted. I leave next week. I want you, Patsy; want you before I go. Tell me, tell me, quick, Sweet—I must know, I must know now.”
And Patsy, her armor broken and fallen at his first sentence, listened with thirsty heart. She drank the words like one whose lips are parched from long desert dryness, and answered by putting her head on his shoulder and breaking into happy sobs.
A half hour later a tea bell which had sounded twice before was rung close to the door and Mother McCullon’s voice called, “Patsy, your father’s getting impatient.”
Patsy put aside Ralph’s arms. “We must go, Ralph, and tell them.”
“But you haven’t said yes, Patsy.”
“Why, Ralph Gardner, what do you mean?”