He did not speak of the worn napkin he had kept because her hands had hemmed it, and that it always brought to his mind the picture of a little girl in a bib apron and white sun-bonnet, whom his aunt had described. To tell her that would remind her of a time he would have her forget, and he dwelt most upon his present feelings and his great love for her.
When Herbert proposed to her, she fell asleep, and she seemed to do so now, she sat so still, with her head bent so low that Fred could not see her face. During her illness, and the excitement which had preceded and followed it, she had not had time to ask herself what her real feelings were for Fred Lansing, or what his were for her. His attentions had been so delicate and unobtrusive, and she had received them without questioning until now, when it came to her that she loved him as she had never loved Herbert White, and that it would be such bliss to put her tired head upon his breast and lay all her care upon his broad shoulders.
“Speak to me, Louie,” he said at last, trying to look in her face. “Say you will be my wife, and cancel that debt.”
“Oh, if I only could,” she said; “but I can’t, because of my family history, and then—” She hesitated a moment and went on, “I once thought I loved Herbert; I was engaged to him.”
“Yes, I know,” Fred answered, succeeding in getting her face where he could see the side of it. “He told me at the time, or I should have proposed to you myself. It gave me an awful pang, which I covered as well as I could, though I think Herbert half suspected it. He has been man enough to write and tell me that you had severed the tie, and he said some things not very complimentary to himself for his cowardice in keeping his engagement a secret. I think he expects this finale to our acquaintance. I know Miss Percy does, and my mother, and both will be glad.”
“But,” Louie said, “my debt, and my voice, and my career?”
“The debt is paid when you give yourself to me,” Fred answered. “Your voice will come back in time, and be all my own; and, as for the career, I have not the prejudice against the stage which Herbert has, but I always hoped you would be saved from it in some way. I would rather not have my wife before the footlights, for a promiscuous crowd to admire and applaud, and you are to be my wife.”
He spoke both interrogatively and affirmatively, and stooped to kiss her; but she drew back from him, as she had from Herbert, and said:
“I have not promised yet. I must have time to think. I must talk with Miss Percy.”
Fred knew his cause was safe in that direction, and did not urge his suit further then. He felt so sure that he could wait, and when his mother and Miss Percy came from Coppet, he told them what he had done, and that he depended upon them as coadjutors, with no misgivings as to the result.