Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel’s breath away with eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had said, but of what he thought and had not said, and with an added subtle suggestion of what he might have thought. “That’s tellin’,” she said, dropping her long lashes again. The Colonel laughed vacantly. Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak gravity. “Pardon me—I understand there are no letters; may I know the way in which he formulated his declaration and promises?”
“Hymn-books,” said the girl, briefly.
“I beg your pardon,” said the mystified lawyer.
“Hymn-books—marked words in them with pencil—and passed ’em on to me,” repeated Zaidee. “Like ‘love,’ ‘dear,’ ‘precious,’ ‘sweet,’ and ‘blessed,’” she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol on the carpet. “Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady—and Solomon’s Song, you know, and sich.”
“I believe,” said the Colonel, loftily, “that the—er—phrases of sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But in regard to the distinct promise of marriage—was there—er—no other expression?”
“Marriage Service in the prayer-book—lines and words outer that—all marked,” said Zaidee. The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. “Very good. Were others cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?”
“Of course not,” said the girl. “Only me and him. It was generally at church-time—or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped one o’ them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it ‘I love you’ for me to take.”
The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?”
“I ate it,” said the girl, simply.
“Ah,” said the Colonel. After a pause he added, delicately: “But were these attentions—er—confined to—er—-sacred precincts? Did he meet you elsewhere?”