Alone with Elsie in the little electric brougham, Whiting made a suggestion.
“You know,” he began with diffidence, “my own feelings for you, Elsie,—oh, don’t be frightened,” he added quickly, as she turned startled eyes on him. “I’m not going to shock you, only I must—I must say, if you want me to,—if you would let me,—I—”
“You’d take Kim’s place as bridegroom,—is that it?”
“Yes,—oh, yes!”
“Well, thank you lots, and I know you mean it in the kindest way, but it won’t do.”
“Don’t be offended, anyway, Elsie,—it seemed a—a way out for you.”
“Yes, I know; it would be. But not a way I can take. Forgive me, Fenn, I’m not ungrateful for the kind part of your offer, but, oh,—we’ve had all this out before!”
“I know it, dear, and I won’t refer to it again. But just remember, if you do want to go on with the ceremony, there’s a bridegroom ready for you.”
Elsie smiled. “I don’t feel wildly hilarious,” she said, and, of a truth she was on the verge of hysterical tears, “but—your speech was funny, Fenn!”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” he rejoined, stoutly; “and I stand by it,—no matter how much you laugh at me.”