“If I did it would be with a good motive,” said the young man again, “but I must go now, Miss Marlowe, and I would so like to see poor Dollie.”
“You shall see her,” said Marion, “for she is sitting up to-night. I think she has been better since she got your message.”
She smiled at him slyly, and the young man blushed like a girl. When he entered the room, and had greeted Dollie, Marion discreetly retired for a few minutes.
“Dollie, dear Dollie, can you love me?” whispered Mr. Moore softly, as he went straight to the young girl who was bundled in wraps on the sofa.
“I do love you,” murmured the girl with a rosy blush. “I think I loved you when I first saw you, and oh, I am so perfectly happy.”
Mr. Moore put his arms around her and kissed her lips softly.
“And you will stick to me, Dollie?” he urged, very tenderly. “You won’t go back on me, even though I am a little frisky?”
“I’d hate to have you any other way,” admitted Dollie, frankly. “Yes, I will stand by you, Ralph, no matter what happens.”
“It is awful to be poor when you are in love and want to get married,” said the young man, sadly, after they had both said over and over that they should always love each other. “Oh, I do so hate this waiting until one can afford to marry, but I know it is sensible, don’t you think so, dearest?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Dollie, who was a very practical little woman. “We must wait patiently, Ralph, until we are both better off, and then, you know, I am very young—really I am not old enough to marry.”