"I do—that is, I think I do," said Jane.
"Not quite sure, eh?" he asked, still smiling.
She shook her head. She looked very charming in her homely dress, her cheeks glowing with health. She was not at all abashed; the self-confidence of innocence, purity of mind, protected her. At this moment Carl Meason was really in love with her; he wanted her badly. It flashed across his mind that he might do worse than marry her; she would make an excellent wife, and not ask too many questions. His look puzzled her; it meant something she did not understand. She lowered her eyes.
"Jane," he said softly, "you are a wonderful girl; I believe I am desperately in love with you."
So it was this caused him to look at her strangely; she understood now.
She never doubted what he said; she raised her eyes, they met his.
"Love me?" she said quietly. "Why should you love me?"
"Because you are adorable, lovely, the best little woman in the world," he said.
She laughed merrily as she replied:
"Oh no, I'm not. Father says I have a temper."
"That's not true; you have a very lovable disposition."