And the look was deep and long.”
For a long time that mute yet speaking gaze was enough without words, but at last Chester rose and drew her to his heart.
“Sweetheart!” he cried, and their lips met after that long year of silence and sorrow and pain—Jessie Stirling’s year of revenge for all she had lost by her own unworthiness.
“I could die now!” Leola murmured, faintly, as she clung to his breast.
“No, you must live for me, my bonny bride!” he answered, and presently they were seated, hand in hand, going over the past.
When she told him of her meeting with Jessie that morning, and of all she had said, Chester turned coaxingly to his lovely sweetheart.
“So she will have me married in July, willy-nilly!” he said. “Well, then, why disappoint her plans, my darling? We can be married just as well as not in July, if you will only consent.”
“Why, July is only two weeks off, Ray!”
“Well, we can make it the last of July, you know, dear—it is so easy to get a trousseau here in Paris, don’t you know? Say yes, Leola, do,” he pleaded.
“We must ask papa first, you know,” she said.