"O—John!" she whispered.
"Surely many have told you so before?"
"Hosts, of course, dear Major!" she nodded.
"Aye, I fear I'm not very original," he sighed, "I'm awkward, I know, tongue-tied and mute when I would speak; but dear, my love doth 'whelm me so—poor, futile words are lost——"
"'Deed, sir," she answered demurely, "I find no fault with your powers of converse more especially when you grow personal. That remark, now, 'beautiful' was the word I think, being a woman such will never tire me—as you say them."
"Yet I do but echo what others have said before me."
"Aye, but you say it as no other man ever did—you speak it so sincerely and reverently as it had been a prayer, John."
"God knoweth I'm sincere, Betty."
"So do I, John," and taking the rosebud from the desk she began to open its petals with gentle fingers. So the Major sat gazing at her, wishing that she would lift her eyes and she, knowing this, kept them lowered of course.
"John," said she at last.