She lowered her eyes, and they began to walk homeward together. After a pause, Jack suddenly laid an entreating hand on her arm.
“You’ll not marry him?” he pleaded.
“He won’t ask me to!” she rejoined, with a smile.
“But—if he did?” persisted Jack.
“Oh, Jack! Can’t you see? He’s far too much of a Philosopher to marry! A wife would bore him to death!”
“And he’d bore a wife to death, that’s certain!” said Jack. “Well!—I suppose I must hope for the best! Anyway—you’ll try—yes, try to like me a little?”
“No need to try!” she answered, sweetly. “I like you very, very much! Oh, Jack, yes! We must always be the very best friends in the world! Swear it!”
She extended her pretty little ungloved hand, and Jack, moved by the spirit of the occasion, took off his hat, dropped on one knee and kissed it.
“I swear!” he said.
Her gay laughter rippled out on the air.