“Wipe your forehead, dear; you’re rather hot.”
Hugo wiped his forehead.
“Look here, Shirley, supposing—just supposing—that I so far forget myself as to prop——”
“Oh, Hugo!” And she clapped her hands—little Shirley! “You must! For the sixth and last time ... just to make it even numbers!”
Hugo’s face was as white as his gardenia.
“For the sixth and last time, Shirley, will you marry me?”
As she stood, with the palms of her hands pressed down on the table and her little face thrown back, she was like a dove, still and absorbed. She was absorbed in something that was Hugo, yet in something that was much more than Hugo. And then her lips trembled a little; they whispered:
“Oh, Hugo, I have been such a beast! But you are so sweet that I simply couldn’t help it!”
He didn’t understand.
But he understood when suddenly she crooked an arm around his neck and brought his face down to hers, and he saw that her eyes were wet....