Geoffrey knew well enough what was passing in her mind, but he was so jubilant and so confident of the issue of the interview that a spirit of mischief possessed him to tease her a little.
“I should love to go abroad—I have always longed to go, as papa says,” Gladys answered, gravely, and with still downcast eyes; “but—I do not think I can go without papa and mamma.”
“Why?” returned Geoffrey, in a pretended surprise. “Uncle August thought, as you and I were both fresh from school, we should appreciate and enjoy the sight-seeing much better to go together.”
“It would be lovely, but—Geoff, you know I cannot go—so,” she persisted, with a crimson face, and a suspicious tremor in her voice.
He gathered her close in his arms, and laid her head against his breast.
“Darling, forgive me for teasing you,” he said. “Of course, you cannot go—‘so’; but, Gladys, will you go with me as my wife?”
He could feel the quick bounding of her heart at this unexpected proposition, and he knew well enough that she would raise no more objections to the trip abroad.
He then repeated the conversation that had passed between her father and himself that morning, telling her how surprised he had been at the plan, and how, at first, he had hardly felt it right to adopt it, considering his rather doubtful position in life. Still, he had reasoned, if he could save Mr. Huntress from a dreaded journey in the dead of winter, and if his services were to be worth the generous sum he had named as his salary, he might feel justified in waving his own scruples and in accepting the great happiness offered him, though he never would have dreamed of proposing such a measure himself.
“My Gladys,” he said, in conclusion, “it is very sudden, and there is only a short time, before I must go. Will you come with me, or must I go by myself?”
There was a minute of silence, then Gladys raised her head, and laid her lips softly against her lover’s cheek.