“Can’t I answer?”
“Yes, you can answer—”
“Then ask me,” he invited, seeking to get something that would afford him an inkling of her aim. Assuredly she had him guessing.
For a moment she looked him straight in the eyes; then suddenly her glance wavered, a faint flush crept from neck to cheek, and she smiled almost bashfully.
“Guy,” said she, “I ask you to forget our profession if you can, and take what I am about to say as free from guile or expediency—and of supreme importance to me. I’m just a simple woman now, with a woman’s desires and affection and hopes. I’ve come to the parting of the ways: on one side lie power, excitement, loneliness; on the other, contentment, peace, companionship. I’ll choose the latter, if you’re willing. You have but to say the word and I’ll give up everything, confess what I’m here for, what I’ve done, and what is arranged for in the future.”
“Upon what condition, Madeline?” he smiled, more puzzled than ever. He was almost ready to believe she meant it.
She caught her breath, hesitated, blushed furiously—and answered softly:
“Upon the condition that you marry me.”
For the instant Harleston was too amazed for words; and, despite all his training in dissimulation, his surprise was evidenced in his face. Small wonder he had been unable to make out the play—it was not a play; she meant it. She was ready to throw her mission overboard to attain her personal end.
“Will you marry me, old enemy?” she whispered, putting out her hand to him and smiting him with a ravishing smile—a smile such as she had had for but one other man. It had been utterly lost on that other, but it had almost won with Harleston; and it might have won now with him but for another’s smile, she of the ruddy tresses and peach-blow cheek.