"Well, ask him; I have my orders to give if you'll stay."
Strelsa walked into the house; Quarren, still hunting about for a cigarette, looked up as she entered the smoking-room.
"Where the dickens does Jim keep his cigarettes?" he asked. "Do you know, Strelsa?"
"You poor boy!" she exclaimed laughingly, "have you been searching all this time? The wonder is that you haven't perished. Why didn't you ask me for one when we were at—our house?"
"Your house?" he corrected, smiling.
Her gray eyes met his with a frightened sort of courage.
"Our house—if you wish—" But her lips had begun to tremble and she could not control them or force from them another word for all her courage.
He came over to where she stood, one slim hand resting against the wall; and she looked back bravely into his keen eyes—the clear, direct, questioning eyes of a boy.
"I—I will—marry you," she said.
A swift flush touched his face to the temples.