"What are you driving at, Tom?" asked Winnie, genuinely puzzled.
"At you, Winnie, dear," replied Moore, and then, conscious that his courage was rapidly leaving him, he proceeded desperately with his performance.
"Winnie Farrell, I love you."
"What?" cried the girl, rising from the stool.
"I love you, Winnie. Say you won't marry me," said Moore, relieved that he had finished. His satisfaction lasted only a moment for Winnie threw her arms around his neck with a little, joyous cry.
"Tom," she whispered, "I 'll be your wife gladly, for I 've loved you for weeks."
"What?" cried Moore. "Oh, Winnie, you are only joking? You don't mean it, Winnie? You don't, do you?"
Bessie gave a little sob. She had quietly opened the door in time to hear Moore's declaration, and, thunderstruck, had stood there, unperceived until now.
Winnie, abashed at Bessie's look of scorn and hatred, did not linger. The door closed behind her, and Moore, just beginning to realize his predicament, stood facing his angered sweetheart.
"Bessie," he said, chokingly. "Bessie, I can explain."