"To—marry?" she whispered.
He leaned forward and laid his hands upon her wrists—importunate hands that sent the blood swirling through her veins.
"Oh, Sheila—don't you understand? I need you!"
For a moment the world swayed around her. Her heart was beating, not in her bosom, but in her throat—up, up to her dry and quivering lips. To back up a man in his undertakings—because she loved him!—that was what Ted was asking her to do for him—to do for him always. Yes—and that was life!
Then, slowly, the world grew still once more; the night wind blew down the fragrance of climbing roses; again she heard the familiar refrain—"Weep no mo', my lady! Oh, weep no mo' to-day!"—and now it seemed tender with the tenderness of insistent and protective love.
And all the while Ted's hands were on her wrists, silently imploring. This was life! Oh, she would never weep again—never again in her joy!
"Sheila?"
She bent toward him—as irresistibly as the rose above her head was drawn to the wind—and smiled.
"Oh, Sheila!—when you look at me like that!"
And then Ted's face was against her breast, his arms around her. She would never weep again—for this was life!