“Why?” He hesitated, astounded.
“Give it to me.”
“Why not?” He handed it to her, and as she took it from him her face changed again, and she looked relieved and happy.
“What is it, Lola? It looks like a jeweller’s box.”
“Hush! We are not married yet, Mr. John Dorris. You must not pry into the mysteries of a lady’s toilet.”
“Oh!” He laughed happily as she returned the little box to her bag, and made sure that it was fastened. “It is hardly fair for you to blame me for our not having married, Lola, is it? Come, dear; why should you keep putting me off? I have money enough to take care of you, and I’ll be making more right along now. Come, Lola! Can’t it be soon?”
“That is quite enough of such nonsense,” she said airily, still keeping away from him. But he was serious now. He had been deeply stirred, and, like most men who, as a general thing, have their emotions well under control, it was difficult for him to so suddenly regain his composure. “I—I love you, Lola!”
The real earnestness in his tone stopped her. It was as though something deep in her heart answered to the yearning in his voice, and she turned gently to him, a look on her face that he had not seen for weeks. The look of the gentle, timid girl who had learned to come to him for comfort and protection.
“You must love me.” She was pleading now. “I need your love, John. You must keep on loving me, with all your heart.”
“I love you, Lola, with all my soul.”