Standing there, he was thinking of the gulf which lay between him and this fair young girl whom he had learned to love, and that he should leave her without revealing one word of what was in his heart; but as he turned to her to make some commonplace remark, and suggest returning to the ballroom, she looked so irresistibly sweet and gracious, his heart seemed swept away from him by storm.
He never knew quite how it came about, but he found himself holding her hands crushed close to his bosom, while his white lips murmured:
“This has been a month in my life which will stand out clear and distinct—forever. In it I have tasted the only happiness which I have ever known; nothing will ever be like it to me again. Will you remember me, I wonder, after you have returned home?”
“Why should I not?” she murmured, shyly. “You have helped me to pass the happiest summer I have ever known.”
“Do you really mean that, Miss Trevalyn—Queenie!” he cried, hoarsely, wondering if his ears had not deceived him.
“Yes,” she sighed, glancing down with a tenderness in her tone which she intended that he should not mistake.
“I should not speak the words that are trembling on my lips, but your kindness gives courage to my frightened heart, and I will dare incur your displeasure, perhaps, by uttering them; but you must know, you who are so beautiful that all men love you—you whom to gaze upon is to become lost.”
“I—I do not know what you mean, Mr. Dinsmore,” she murmured, with shy, averted eyes and downcast, blushing face, thinking how different this proposal was to the score of others she had received.
“May I dare tell you? Promise me you will not be very angry,” he said, humbly, “and that you will forgive me.”
But he did not wait for her answer, he dared not pause to think, lest his courage should fail him, but cried huskily: