"Ann, don't lose your head over Chalmers," he said soberly, with that queer density with which a married man usually regards a love affair. (Oh, stupid Rufe! My head has been lost so long that I have grown delightfully accustomed to doing without it!) "He is a good fellow, and all that, but I don't know that he's good enough for you."
"Ann!" It was Cousin Eunice's voice calling weakly from the darkened room beyond. I went to her bed.
"Ann, is that Richard Chalmers down-stairs?"
"Yes."
"And Rufe isn't going down?"
"No."
"Well, listen, dear: he may propose to you to-night—I have seen that he was only waiting to get a good chance—but don't promise him anything! Until we know him better, dear!"
I patted her hand softly, then ran into my own room to get a fan that I might have something to toy with. There was a bottle of rich perfume on my table, my favorite lily-of-the-valley, and I drew the long glass stopper across my lips. Then I went to the window and looked out at the white light of the moon.
"Not promise him anything!" I said half aloud, the beauty of the night drawing a sigh of longing that was almost a sob. "Oh, don't they know that I would promise him my very soul if he should ask it?"
Richard was restlessly walking up and down the length of the long room when I came down again. He crossed to meet me and held out his hand, catching mine in his strong grip, just as if we had not shaken hands only a short time before. "So I am going to have you all to myself to-night?"