"I don't call you an old fellow," she said indignantly; "and—I—don't think—I have got to learn to care. I—think—I have—learnt—already."
Very gently, with a sort of tender reverence, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, then put her away from him again, and said quietly—
"Is it fair to you, I wonder; is it fair to you to take all your best, and give you only the second best in return?"
"But if I would rather have your second best, than the best from any other man in the world?" she said quickly. "What then? If it is a greater joy to me to think of being your rest and sunshine, than to be anything else in the world; what then?"
She put her hands upon his shoulders, pushing him a little further from her, that she might look fully into his eyes. "I don't believe any man really ever understands a woman," she added, inconsequently, with a laugh.
"Where have you learnt your knowledge of mankind?" he questioned; "and what makes you say we don't understand the other half of the world?"
"Because, if you did, you would know that when a woman cares for a man, she would rather just be a servant in his house than go altogether out of his life. Perhaps we all prefer the best, but a woman who cares, would rather have the second best, than nothing at all."
"And are you a woman—who cares?" he whispered, drawing her back into his arms, with a sudden sense of her sweetness, her desirableness; "would you rather be——"
"You haven't asked me yet to be anything," she answered, with a touch of audacity, that sat charmingly upon her—"at least, you only mentioned rest, and sunshine, and—and intangible things of that sort."
"And if I asked you to be my wife?" His lips were very near to hers, his voice in itself was a caress, and Christina's heart beats nearly choked her. "If—I want you for my wife, little girl?"