"Where are we going?" she asked.
"For a walk," replied Mr. Stanford, "and a talk. You are not afraid, I hope?"
"Afraid?" said Rose, the colour flushing her face. "Of what should I be afraid?"
"Of me!"
"And why should I be afraid of you?"
"Perhaps because I may make love to you? Are you?"
"No."
"Come on, then."
He offered his arm, and Rose put her gloved fingers gingerly in his coat-sleeve, her heart fluttering more than ever.
"You are going to be married," he said, "and I have had no opportunity of offering my congratulations. Permit me to do it now."