“Is it so bad as that? It’s a good thing for me, I guess, that she is so careful; you might get to see someone you could like better than me.”
She laughed again, seeing the anxiety he strove to cover.
“If you’ve been accumulating wrinkles and gray hairs on account of that you’ve been very foolish.”
“Your last letter didn’t seem quite as genial as some others!”
“I didn’t underscore the important words, or write them in red ink?”
She became suddenly grave. The events of the evening haunted her like a bad dream.
He stooped low above her bended head.
“I love you,” he whispered; “and I’m going to ask you again if you love me, just to hear you say it!”
She looked up at him, tremulously.
“Justin, I love you, and I love you! There, don’t ask me again, until after you have spoken to Uncle Philip.”