He crossed the room, opened the door, and stood with the knob in his hand, waiting for me to pass through. I stiffened my back and stood still. I told myself that to give in—after that—meant that I agreed—practically gave my consent. I would not do it! I would not! I would stand all day rather than move an inch. Nothing should induce me.
He rattled the knob, and stared steadily in my face. I turned and—went!
“Evelyn Wastneys, will you take this man to be your wedded husband?”
I had come back again—in my blue dress!—and he met me on the threshold, where I verily believe he had been standing waiting, all the time I changed. He took both my hands in his, and asked the question so deeply and seriously that it brought the tears to my eyes.
“I think I—will!” I said shakily. “But you must not be too sudden with me, please, because I was so certain that I never would. You must give me time to get used to the idea.”
“You can really love me? You can really manage to care?”
“I can! The difficulty lately has been—the other way! When you didn’t come I was afraid. I had a horrible conviction that you’d changed your mind.”
He laughed, and drew me closer, wrapping me close in his strong arms. I lay still, and felt as if all my burdens were rolling away, and a big strong barrier hedged me in and protected me from the buffets and responsibilities of life. It was a blissful feeling—full of joy, full of rest. Now it seemed worth while having been a lonely woman. No sheltered, home-living girl could possibly have rejoiced as I rejoiced.
“You are mine! I’ll take care of you. No more rushing about, and living in disguise.”