"It is an assured fact," he went on, "that all the unhappiness in the world is caused by the inability to reason. Married life is miserable just because it is not put on a sensible basis. Any two human beings capable of reasoning would be happy together, if that point were kept constantly in view. Perfect, absolute truthfulness, and constant deductions from it, form the only sure foundation for happiness. Am I right?"
She twisted the corners of her handkerchief. "Yes, I think you are."
Elliott paced back and forth with his hands in his pockets—a symptom of nervousness which women mistake for deep thought; "Belle," he said suddenly, "I have always liked you. You have so much more sense than most girls. I am not going to flatter you, but you are the only woman I ever saw who seemed to be a reasonable being. What I want to ask is, will you try it with me?"
Miss Marshall opened her brown eyes in amazement. Since she left boarding-school, the approach of the Elliott planet had materially confused her orbit. She had often dreamed of the offer of Tom's heart and hand, but for once, the consensus of masculine opinion to the contrary, a woman was surprised by a proposal.
"What on earth do you mean?" she gasped.
"Just this. You and I are congenial, of an equal station in life, and I believe we could be happy together—happier than the average married couple. There's no foolish sentimentality about it; we know each other, and that is enough."
There was a terrific thumping going on in the region where Miss Marshall had mentally located her heart. She took refuge in that platitude of her sex which goads an ordinary lover to desperation.
"This is so sudden, Mr. Elliott! I must take time to consider."
"Very well, take your own time. I'll be a good husband to you, Belle, if you'll only give me the chance."