She peered at him, complacent, curious, blightingly unconscious of his emotions, and the young man felt a stirring of hot impatience. Insinuation and innuendo were of no use where Pixie O’Shaughnessy was concerned; an ordinary girl might scent a proposal afar off and amuse herself by an affectation of innocence, but nothing short of a plain declaration of love would convince Pixie of his sincerity.
“Pixie,” he said suddenly, “look at me!” He took her hands in his, and drew her round so as to face him as they sat. “Look at me, Pixie,” he repeated. “Look in my eyes. Tell me, what do you see?”
Pixie looked, her own eyes wide and amazed. Her fingers stirred within his hands with a single nervous twitch, and then lay still, while into her eyes crept an expression of wonder and awe.
“I don’t know.—I don’t know. ... What do I see?”
“Love, Pixie! My love. My love for you. ... I’ve fallen in love with you, darling; didn’t you know? I knew it that last evening when we were together upstairs. I’ve known it better and better each day since; and to-day I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t wait any longer. ... Pixie, do you love me too?”
“Of course I love you. How could I help it?” cried Pixie warmly. Her fingers tightened round his with affectionate pressure, her eyes beamed encouragingly upon him.
Never could there have been a warmer, a more spontaneous response, and yet, strange to relate, its very ardour had a chilling effect, for Stanor, though young, was experienced enough to realise that it is not in this fashion that a girl receives a declaration of love from the man of her heart. He himself had struggled with shyness and agitation; he was conscious of flushed cheeks, of a hoarseness of voice, of the beating of pulses; then surely a girl taken by surprise, faced suddenly, with the question of such enormous import, should not be less moved than he.
The words died upon his lips; involuntarily his hands relaxed their grasp. There was a moment of impossible impasse and strain before, with a realised effort, he forced himself to express a due delight.
“That makes me very happy, Pixie. I—I was afraid you might not care. I’m not half good enough for you, I know that, but I’ll do my best. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. I’m not rich, you know, darling; we should have to live on what I can make independently of the uncle, for he has peculiar views. He doesn’t wish me to marry.”
“Marry!” repeated Pixie deeply. She sat bolt upright in her seat, her eyes suddenly alight with interest and excitement. Incredible as it might appear, Stanor realised that this was the first moment when the idea of marriage had entered her brain. “Is it marrying you are talking about? You want me to marry you?”