Tom stared at her in open-mouthed wonder, and soon after took his departure.
Once inside his room, he sat down to close analysis of himself. He had been working too hard, and was temporarily unbalanced. She was quite right in saying that it caused disease; such a thing must not happen. His reason had been impaired by long hours in the office; otherwise he would never have thought of doing such a foolish, unreasonable thing.
In the morning he received a note from her. She had been summoned to the bedside of a sick sister, and would be away from home as long as she was needed.
The next month was a long one for Tom. He was surprised to find how much of his life could be filled by a woman. After they were married there would be no such separations. He wrote regularly and received in return such brief notes as her duties permitted her to write. Then, for a week, none came, and he went to her home to see what news had been received there. The servant admitted him, half smiling, and in white house gown, by the open fire he saw Belle. She had never seemed so sweet and womanly, and with a cry he could not repress, he caught her in his arms. She struggled, but in vain, and at last gave her lips willingly to his. In that minute Tom learned more than all his college course had taught him. Utterly unconscious of his own temerity, he kissed her again and again. The little white figure was silent in his arms, and bending low he whispered a word which no reasonable man would ever be caught using.
Her face shining with tears, Belle looked up.
"Tom," she said, "do you love me?"
"Love you!" he said slowly. "Why—I guess—I must."
She laughed happily and he drew her closer.
"Dear little girl," he said tenderly, "do you love me?"
The answer came muffled from his shoulder: "All the time, Tom!"