There was no sign that she heard, but of course she did, and he went on to say, that he had loved her ever since she was a little girl and chased him up the tree, when he was about to rob a bird’s nest. It was a boy’s love then, but now that he was nearly twenty, it was a man’s love he offered her. He laid great emphasis on the “man,” and told her that he wanted to be engaged—not openly at first, because his father (he called him the governor) had some unreasonable prejudices which must be overcome.
“Thinks the Queen’s daughter none too high up for me; but a fellow marries for himself and not for his father,” he said, adding that he was going to college in the autumn and it would be four years before he could be graduated. By that time she would be nearly twenty-one and he twenty-four, and old enough to act for himself, independent of his father; in the meantime it would be just as well not to announce the engagement. It would save him some unpleasantness, and her, too; as his father would be very uncivil to her, and his mother was nearly as proud as his father, and would be influenced by him—not because Mr. Grey had not always been as well off as he was now, but—er— Herbert hesitated, feeling that he could not speak of his father’s suspicions of Mr. Grey. He had done so once and Louie had nearly torn his eyes out. He could not risk it again, especially after all the Grey Bank had done for them. So he continued to speak of the necessity for secrecy. She would be sure of him and he sure of her. Of course, she would not allow attentions from anyone, no matter who he was. There were plenty of cads who would like to hang round her, but as his promised wife she must keep them at a distance, even if Fred Lansing were of the number, as he might be. He had seemed a good deal impressed at the party, but he was not a marrying man—was as cold as marble—a terrible iceberg where women were concerned, and his attentions would mean no more than that he was pleased for the time.
Having had his fling at Fred, Herbert waited for some sign of assent to what he had said. But there was none. Louie still lay with her eyes closed, and perfectly motionless. Nothing had moved her, neither his words of love nor the honor he felt he was conferring upon her, nor what he had said of her father’s not having always been as rich as he was now. She was breathing very regularly, and something in the sound made him bend close to her with a suspicion of the truth.
“Louie,” he said. “Louie, do you hear me?”
There was no answer, and, starting up, he exclaimed, not in a whisper, but aloud, as he grasped her shoulder, and shook her:
“Thunderation! I believe you are asleep.”
That roused her, and, opening her eyes, she stared at him for a moment vacantly, as if wondering why he was there. Then as he said again, “I do believe you have been asleep,” she answered, with a yawn:
“I think I have, and I don’t know at all what you have been saying. I heard in a confused way something about that robin’s nest you tried to break up years ago, and I half thought I had you by the collar again; then your voice began to sound like bees humming, and I was so tired and sleepy, I went off. I beg your pardon. It was not very polite. What have you said to me? Anything important?”
“Great guns!” Herbert replied, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry. “Don’t you know I have asked you to be my wife?”
She was wide awake now, with every faculty alert, and the hot blood was staining her face, as she sat up erect and looked at him wonderingly. She had half expected that something of this sort might happen sometime, but not so soon. Herbert seemed more like a lover than a friend, and she certainly cared more for him than for anyone she had ever met, if indeed, she did not already love him. Still, it was very sudden, being roused from a sound sleep with an offer of marriage at one o’clock in the morning, and, besides that, a thought of Fred Lansing crossed her mind unpleasantly, and the light faded a little from her eyes, which drooped under Herbert’s ardent gaze.