“This settles the question of your fortune. It’s gone—vanished into scraps. You’re a poor girl, now, with no glittering prospects, so what I’m going to say won’t seem quite so selfish as it would otherwise. In fact, had these laces been perfect, they would have rendered me dumb. As it is, here stand two impecunious ones—you and I. Between us we haven’t much more than enough to fry a fish, in solid cash, but among my encumbrances are a delightful little bungalow, nicely furnished, and a lot of lemon trees that can be coaxed to buy us groceries and ordinary comforts. I’m a lonely fellow, Mildred, and I need a companion. Will you marry me, and look after that bungalow?”
This extraordinary proposal was heard in breathless silence. The men were astounded, the girls delighted. Every eye turned curiously upon Mildred Travers, who regarded the big rancher with frank wonder, a wan smile upon her pallid features.
“You do not say you love me,” she suggested, striving through mild banter to cover her confusion.
“Well, isn’t that implied?” he answered. “No one would propose to a girl he didn’t love, would he?”
“You have only known me two days.”
“Two days and seven hours. But mother endorsed you and I’ll bank on her judgment.”
“When the mortgages come due, there won’t be any bungalow,” she continued.
“Don’t you believe it,” cried Runyon, earnestly. “With you to work for, I’ll make those tart old lemons pay the interest and a good income besides. In fact, if we live long enough, we may even manage to reduce the mortgages. You see, I’ve been extravagant and foolish, but it was because I had no aim in life. The minute you say ‘yes,’ I’m a reformed character.”
She shook her head and the smile faded from her face.
“Don’t think me ungrateful, Mr. Runyon,” she said quietly. “Unusual and—and—peculiar—as this proposal is, I believe you are sincere in what you say. But you are influenced just now by pity for me and I assure you I am quite capable of earning my own living.”