We had the place all to ourselves; for, as it was now early in the morning, most of the guests had already gone:—the indefatigables who remained were too busily engaged to mind us. They were making the most of the last waltz, which was protracted to an indefinite length.
“Min, my darling,”—said I, after a brief pause, looking straight down into her honest, upturned face,—“will you promise to be my wife, or no?”
“O–oh, Frank!” she murmured, bending her head down without another word.
“Darling!”—I continued.—“You know full well that I love you; and I’ve thought, dearest, that you loved me a little?”
“Hush! Do not speak so, dear Frank; you grieve me so,” she said.
“Have you forgotten all the past then, Min? Don’t you remember last year, and all that happened then?”—I asked.
“I remember, Frank,” she whispered, rather than spoke.
“And do you not love me still, darling?” I pleaded:—“Look up into my face, and let me see your eyes:—they won’t deceive me, I know!”
But, the dear, grey eyes would not meet mine.
“Oh, Min, my darling!” I asked again, pressing her closely to my heart, “will you not promise to be my wife? Sweet, I love you so!”