“No,” he answered; “you saved mine.”
She gave him a pale-blue smile and, as the chill seized her, she spoke, with teeth knocking together, “We s-saved dea-dea chother.”
“Ye-yes,” he ch-chattered, “so w-we bu-bu-bu-bulong to wea-weachother.”
“All r-r-right-t-t-t.”
That was his proposal and her acceptance. They rose and clasped hands and ran for the bath-house, while agues of rapture made scroll-work of their outlines. They had escaped from dying together, but they were not to escape from living together.
CHAPTER XXIX
The betrothed couple had no opportunity to seal the engagement with the usual ceremonies. When they met again, fully clothed, she was so late to her luncheon that she had to fly.
Already, after their high tragedy and their rosy romance, the little things of existence were asserting their importance. That afternoon Sheila had an engagement that she could not get out of, and a dinner afterward. She had booked these dates without dreaming of what was to happen.
It was not till late in the evening that Sheila could steal away to Winfield, who stole across the lawn to her piazza by appointment.
The scene was perfectly set. An appropriate moon was in her place. The breeze was exquisitely aromatic. Winfield was in summer costume of dinner-suit and straw hat. Sheila was in a light evening gown with no hat.