Miss Mary! Perhaps you will be astonished and reject me. Perhaps false reports have blackened my reputation with you, and you will scornfully shrug your shoulders. I must beg you not to hasten to say the decisive word. I make bold to say that in me you will find a husband who will try to make you happy. Only one thing I beg. Consider the offer. Four weeks from to-day I await the decision—not earlier, not later.
With most passionate devotion,
William Cibulka.
Miss Mary felt as if she had an attack of vertigo. She was in the thirties, and this was her first love letter. She had never thought of love, and no one had ever paid her any attention. Lightning darted through her head, blood pounded in her temples, and she breathed with effort. She was not in condition to formulate any sort of thought. Only in midst of the flashing, red lightning, she saw the gloomy-looking Cibulka.
She picked up the letter from the floor and read it a second time. How beautifully it was written, how tender! She could not bring herself to conceal the letter from her friend. Without being able to utter a word she handed it to her.
“See, see”—observed at last Mrs. Nocar. Her face expressed confusion and surprise. “And what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Louisa.”
“You have time enough to think. Of course it is possible—but, you know how men are—But—And yet why should he not be in love with you? I’ll make some inquiries about him.”
Miss Mary was silent.
“Listen! Cibulka is a fine looking fellow! His eyes are like coals, his beard, too, and his teeth—I say his teeth are like pure sugar. He is really very good looking.”