"Then you may depend on me."
Strange as it may appear, it was the first time in his life that James Cromwell ever acted as escort to a lady in visiting a place of public entertainment, and he felt a degree of awkwardness because of that. But when Clara Manton appeared, she was so gracious and sociable, that all his mauvaise haute disappeared, and he walked arm in arm with her, feeling easier and more unembarrassed than he had supposed to be possible. When they entered the hall he glanced around him with pride at the thought it would be perceived that he was the chosen cavalier of such an attractive young lady.
Of the concert it is unnecessary to speak. It closed at a comparatively early hour, and the two wended their way homeward.
"Shall we prolong our walk a little?" he said. "It is still early, and it is very pleasant."
"Yes; that will be pleasant," she returned. "Papa is probably asleep by this time, and won't miss me. What a charming concert we had."
"None of them sang as well as you, Miss Manton," said Cromwell.
"Oh, now you are flattering me, Mr. Cromwell. I cannot permit that, you know," she said, playfully.
"No," he said earnestly, "I am not flattering you, Miss Clara. You are so—so—I hope you'll excuse me, but you are so beautiful and attractive that——"
"Oh, Mr. Cromwell!" uttered Clara; adding to herself, "I dare say he is going to propose. Well, it's just as well now as at any other time. How ridiculous it makes him look, being in love!"
Luckily unconscious of the thoughts that were passing through the mind of his companion, Cromwell burst out, "But it's true, Miss Clara. I love you; and I don't think I can live without you. Will you marry me?"