Kathleen's face was bent on her hand. Teddy heard a smothered sob, but he did not know with what terrible directness the words had gone to her heart. He believed that she was heart-whole and fancy-free.
"It is too sad for you, is it not?" he exclaimed. "I will read you something brighter:
"'They may talk of love in a cottage,
And bowers of trellised vine,
Of nature bewitchingly simple,
And milkmaids half divine.
"'But give me a sly flirtation
By the light of a chandelier—
With music to play in the pauses,
And nobody very near.'"
Kathleen actually gave a soft little laugh, for Teddy had read the lines with such gusto that he plainly betrayed how much the sentiment was to his mind.
He started, flushed, then said, with his unvarying good nature:
"Ah, how cruel! But never mind, so that I've made you feel brighter. Have I, Kathleen?"
"You are too good to me," the girl answered, gratefully, moved by his kindness.
"Too good! Ah, not one-half as good as I would like to be, if only you would let me," cried the young man, ardently. "Ah, Kathleen," he continued, impulsively, "do you remember how I used to love you—how I begged you to be my wife? My darling girl, I'm as fond of you as ever. Won't you try to love me? I would be the proudest boy in Christendom if you would marry me!"