“It's cool here, isn't it?” said Francis.
“Real cool.”
“It always is on the hottest day. There is always a breeze here, if there isn't anywhere else.”
Francis's words were casual, but his voice was unsteady with a tender tone that seemed to overweight it.
Lois seemed to hear only this tone, and not the words. It was one of the primitive tones that came before any language was made, and related to the first necessities of man. Suddenly she had ears for that only. She did not say anything. Her hands were folded in her lap quietly, but her fingers tingled.
“Lois,” Francis began; then he stopped.
Lois did not look up.
“See here, Lois,” he went on, “I don't know as there is much use in my saying anything. You've hardly noticed me lately. There was one spell when I thought maybe— But— Well, I'm going to ask you, and have it over with one way or the other. Lois, do you think—well, do you feel as if you could ever—marry me some time?”
Lois dropped her head down on her hands.
“Now don't you go to feeling bad if you can't,” said Francis. “It won't be your fault. But if you'd just tell me, Lois.”