“Yes, just four weeks to-morrow. I remember because ... never mind why.... But you have not really answered me.” He recaptured her hand and pressed it. “Do, ‘Gamin,’ do, please say something encouraging!” he murmured, almost in her ear, and quite unconsciously drawing her toward him.
Her graceful body stiffened, and almost immediately relaxed again. The hand in his was trembling a very little.
“I think you would make a very nice husband,” she said, innocently, not in the least aware of what she was saying.
A quick smile lighted up Basil’s eyes. “You dear child!” he whispered. “You little darling!”
Marguerite sat quite still waiting—waiting for she knew not what; her heart beating so fast that she became afraid he might hear it. Fortunately more gulls were swooping up from below the giddy brink, and the surge of their wings made this improbable.
“Then you would not laugh at me if I were to ask you to—”
He paused, searching for the exact words he wanted, and Marguerite, her lips slightly apart, listened a trifle breathlessly. “To help me?” he concluded with unexpected force.
“Help you? How? What do you mean, Cousin Basil?”
She was desperately trying to conquer some unexplainable emotion.
“You see, I don’t like to ask your father. He would begin by making fun of me!”