Estelle lifted her fine China blue eyes to his. They weren't soft, but they could sometimes look very mysterious.
"Oh," she said, "but, Winn—it's so sudden—so soon!"
"Leave's short," Winn explained, "and besides, I knew the moment I looked at you, I wanted you. I don't know how you feel, of course; but—well—I'm sure you aren't the kind of girl to let a fellow kiss you, are you, and mean nothing?"
Estelle's long lashes swept her cheeks; she behaved exquisitely. She was, of course, exactly that kind of girl.
"Ah," she said, with a little tremble in her voice, "if I do marry you—will you be kind to me?"
Winn trembled, too; he flushed very red, and suddenly he did the funniest, most unlikely thing in the world: he got down on his knees beside her, and taking both her hands in his, he kissed them.
"I'll be like this as much as ever you'll let me," he said gravely.
He had a great craving for sweetness, delicacy, and gentleness; he began to tell her in little short, abrupt sentences how unworthy he was of her, not fit to touch her really—he was afraid he'd been horribly rough—and done lots of things she would have hated (he forgot to mention that he'd ever done anything worth doing as well); he explained that he didn't know any women a bit like her; there weren't any, of course, really like—but she knew what he meant. So that he expected she'd have to teach him a lot—would she—if she didn't mind, and overlook his being stupid?
Estelle listened thoughtfully for a few minutes, then she asked him if he didn't think eight bridesmaids would be better than four?
He got up from his knees then.