I asked her if she would let me abandon the formal appellation of “Miss Clyde,” and call her “Min?”
She said, “Yes.”
I asked her then, ere the door opened, on wishing her “good-bye,” with a lingering hand-clasp, whether she would not call me by my Christian name, too?
She gently whispered, “Frank”—so softly, so faintly, that the night-wind, sighing by, could not catch the accents and bear the sound to alien ears; but I heard it, and my heart throbbed in a delirious tempest of happiness; I lost my senses almost: my head swam in a whirlwind of tumultuous joy: I was intoxicated with ecstasy!
“Good-night, Frank!” I heard her dear, sweet voice whispering, like strains of music in my heart, as I went homewards. I seemed to feel her warm violet breath still on my cheek. I could fancy I yet gazed into the star-depths of her soul-speaking, deep, grey eyes.
“Good-night, Frank!” The words sang in my ears all night, and I slept in fairyland.