There was a touch of the Southern girl's conscious poise and coquetry in the laugh. There was something aloof in it that meant trouble. He felt it with positive terror. He didn't have time to fence for position. He was in no mood for a flirtation. He had come to speak the deep things.
She led him to a seat with an air of dignity and reserve that alarmed him still more. He had taken too much for granted perhaps. There might be another man. Conceited fool! He hadn't thought it possible. Her manner had been so frank, so utterly sincere.
She sat by his side smiling at him in the bewitching way so many pretty girls had done before, when they merely wished to play with love.
He spoke in commonplaces and studied her with increasing panic. Her tactics baffled him. Until at last he believed he had solved the riddle! She had suddenly waked to the fact, as he had, that she had met her fate. She was drawing back for a moment in fright at the seriousness of surrender.
"Yes, that's it!" he murmured half aloud.
"What did you say?" she asked archly.
And his heart sank again. She asked the question with a tone of teasing that made him blush in spite of himself.
With sudden resolution he decided to make the plunge. He seized her hand and spoke with a queer hitch of awkwardness in his voice.
"Miss Flora, I've just twenty-four hours to be here. Every one of them is precious. I want to make them count. Don't you know that I love you?"
The little mouth twitched with a smile.