"I did not need it, not I," continued the man, earnestly. "I knew you had done nothing of your free will that the whole world might not know. But I knew, too, that you would be pleased to have your innocence established. And I was glad for another reason. I love you, Daisy. I have loved you a very long time. Your sister was right in that. Had you not shown such a marked preference for my friend I would have done my best to win you, months and months ago. While you felt that you were an object of suspicion I knew you would not consent to be my wife. Now, that obstacle is gone and—Daisy—I want you."
The hands were withdrawn from the tear-stained face, a handkerchief was hastily passed over it, and Daisy turned half away from the speaker.
"You will not refuse, my love," he murmured, bending again toward her. "You will promise?"
One of her hands strayed toward him, and was clasped joyfully in his own.
"But, in relation to that other matter," said Daisy, some moments later, when the sweet tokens of love had been given and taken, "I must be as silent as before. I have listened to you, but I have not replied. You can understand the reason. Never speak of it to me again, if you do not wish to inflict pain. It is something I cannot discuss."
"I may tell your father, though," he whispered.
"It would be best not. He is content now. No, I beg you, say nothing to any one."
And he promised, like the lover he was, and sealed it with another kiss on her pure mouth.
"I may tell him of—of our love?" he asked.
"Oh, yes; we will tell him of that together."