With an effort, as she again brushed the bit of lace across her lips, Bess spoke: “I have decided, Mr. Davis. My answer is—yes!”
How long he held her in passionate embrace, how fervently he rained caresses upon her eyes, her mouth, her hair, Bess did not know. Instead, she wondered if the butterfly in her hair would suddenly become animate and fly away, so persistently did it flutter its gauzy wings. She heard the rustle of the silken crepe of her gown under the pressure of his arm. She felt the amber beads trickle down her shoulders and strike with soft patter on the rug, as they became released as if scissors had snapped their cord. Unconsciously she stooped to pick them up, but the man held her fast.
“Oh—please—!” she cried. Summoning all her strength she wrested herself free, her heart beating wildly.
“Forgive me, dear—I could devour you! You were never so beautiful, so lovable before! I’m sorry to have frightened you,” said Davis, his voice scarcely audible in its emotion.
“Bess,” he began more calmly, “I dare not tell myself how happy you have made me. To think that you are really mine—mine! To know that I may take you away from here, this dreadful country with its sordid conditions, its Indians. To feel that you have given me the right to place you in a realm where you may be the queen that you are!”
Taking her gently by the hand he led her to a seat and then began telling her his plans. He said that no preparations need be made as to trousseau, as everything could be procured after they had reached New York, as she objected to being married so soon. Rather reluctantly he consented to her wish to be married here at HW ranch and by Father Damien of St. Ignatius Mission. It should be very quiet with no guests present.
“I shall have a bridesmaid, however,” said Bess. “I have just received word that my dearest friend will be here tomorrow—Berenice Morton.”
“Mor—ton—did you say—Morton?” asked Mr. Davis, in a strange voice.
“Have I never told you of her?” added Bess, apparently unnoticing any embarrassment. “We were at the convent school together, and just the greatest of chums! I have not seen her since then, and now I can scarcely wait until she arrives. She wrote me that her visit could be only three weeks, but I am sure that she can be prevailed upon to be my bridesmaid, and then she could return with me—with us—as far as New York. Where is her home, did you ask? She, with her father and an invalid sister, have been spending the past few months in the mountains in New Hampshire. I do not know whether they will return to their home near Boston or not. You see—so many—many heartaches were—” Bess could not finish her sentence. The swift rush of tears choked her voice as the flood of memory swept over her.