“It's a bad night,” he muttered.
The banality saved her. Again practically at her ease, she regarded him with slightly smiling lips. “I believe I've asked you to marry me,” she remarked.
“Thank you,” said Jason Burrage. He stood up. “If you mean it, I'd like to very much.”
“You'd better sit down,” she went on in an impersonal voice; “there ought to be a lot of things to arrange. For instance, hadn't we better live on here, for a while anyhow? It's a big house to waste.”
“Honora, you'll just have to stop a little,” he asserted; “I'm kind of lost. It was quick in California, but that was a funeral procession compared with you.”
Now that it was done, she was frightened. But there was time to escape even yet. She determined to leave the room quickly, get away to the safety of her bolted door, her inviolable privacy. She didn't stir. An immediate explanation that she hadn't been serious—how could he have thought it for a moment!—would save her. But she was silent.
A sudden enthusiasm lighted up his immobile face. “I'll get the prettiest diamond in Boston,” he declared.
“You mustn't——” she commenced, struggling still to retreat. He misunderstood her.
“The very best,” he insisted.
When he had gone she remained seated in the formal chamber. At any rate she had conquered the emptiness of her life, of the great square house above her. It was definitely arranged, they were to marry. How amazed Herriot Cozzens would be! It was probable that she would leave Cot-tarsport, and her, Honora, immediately. Jason hadn't kissed her, he had not even touched her hand, in going. He had been extremely subdued, except at the thought of the ring he would buy for her.