“Loosh,” he declared, “you are superb; do you realize it? So you don't know whether you are in love with her or not. Well, put it this way: Would you like to marry her, have her for your wife, live with her for the rest of your days?”
Galusha considered this astounding proposition, but only for the briefest possible moment. His gentle, dreamy, wistful countenance seemed almost to light up from within. His answer was given in one breath and as if entirely without conscious volition.
“Oh, very much,” he said, in a low tone. “Oh, yes, very much.”
The Boston banker had been on the point of laughing when he asked the question. But he did not laugh. He whistled instead. Then he smiled, but it was not a smile of ridicule.
Jumping from the fence rail, he laid a hand on his relative's shoulder.
“Well, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, old man, will you? I had no idea you were taking it so seriously. I... Well, by Jove!”
Galusha did not speak. The same queer ecstatic brightness was upon his face and he was looking now, not at the grinning cherub, but at the distant horizon line of gray-green ocean and slate-gray sky. Cabot's grip on his shoulder tightened.
“So you really want to marry her,” he said.... “Humph!... Well, I'll be hanged! Loosh, you—you—well, you certainly can surprise a fellow when you really make a business of it.”
The brightness was fading from Galusha's face. He sighed, removed his spectacles, and seemed to descend from the clouds. He sighed again, and then smiled his faint smile.
“Dear me,” he said, “how ridiculous it was, wasn't it? You like a joke, don't you, Cousin Gussie?”