“Good God! Love you?” said I. “Forever!”
“Always?”
“Forever.”
She gave her burning hands to mine, and oblivious of the old negro, whose eyes were upon us, we stood there, looking at each other in awe, very much frightened and very much, for that moment,—and I sometimes wonder if not in truth,—the centre of the universe.
“You belong to me, Jerry?” she said tearfully. “Now?”
“Then I must go back quickly,” she explained, after a moment. “I do not want father to know yet. I want to prepare the way. I don’t want you to speak with him for a week. I will tell him then. Perhaps you think it is strange. But Friday, when he knows, you may come.”
She had a carriage waiting for her, and I walked with her to its door.
“I want to kiss you, Julianna,” I whispered.
She looked up to see whether the driver could observe us. He could not. And then the mischief-loving quality of womankind appeared in her. She gave forth a glad little laugh.