“The triumph of my life work is in sight. I may breathe freely for the first time. I have chosen you to be the queen of this house. I offer you my hand in marriage—”
Virginia caught her breath in genuine amazement. Never before had he even hinted that the thought of marriage had entered his imagination. He had made his proposal with a cocksure insolence which assumed that the honor was so high the girl had not been born who could refuse it.
A little angry laugh all but escaped before she repressed it. The situation was dramatic. She would play with him a moment—and test his sense of humor.
“You honor me beyond my deserts, Mr. Waldron,” she answered naively.
“I must differ with you,” he answered briskly. “On the other hand I am sure there is not a woman in America who could grace these halls with your poise, your brilliance, your beauty. The home I have built is worthy of you—yes. That you will fill the high position to which I have called you with dignity and grace I am sure—”
She lifted her hand with a movement of impatience—a mischievous smile playing about her mouth.
“But you haven’t told me that you love me—“ she protested.
“You are a modern woman. You have outgrown the forms of the past—is it necessary to repeat the formula? Can’t you take that much for granted in the offer of my hand?”
Virginia shook her head.
“I’ve traveled pretty far from the old ways, I know,” she admitted. “I can’t give up all the past. I’ve an idea that a man and woman should love before marriage—”