"You are, you know," said Pat, examining him gravely. "I don't know what it is about you, and I can't imagine why I have been all these years finding it out, but you're the dearest, sweetest, most angelic...."
"Tell me more," said John.
He took her in his arms, and time stood still.
"Pat!" whispered John.
He was now positive that it was a bee, and almost as positive that it was merely choosing a suitable spot before stinging him. But he made no move. The moment was too sacred.
After all, bee stings were good for rheumatism.
THE END