He stared at her, utterly bewildered. “I've been that for twenty-four whole hours! Congratulate me!”
Little by little the meaning of the words began to dawn in Jimmie's stupid head. “Comrade Mrs. Gerrity!” he echoed. “But—but—I thought you didn't believe in marriage.”
There came the most bewitching smile, a smile decorated with two rows of pearly white teeth. “Don't you understand, Comrade Higgins? No woman believes in marriage—until she meets the right man.”
This was much too subtle. Jimmie was still gaping open-mouthed. “But then, I thought—I thought—” he stopped again; for in truth, he had not known quite what he thought, and anyway, it seemed futile to try to formulate it now.
But, of course, she knew, without his telling her; she knew the meaning of his look of dismay, and of his stammering words. Being a kind little creature, she laid her hand on his arm. “Comrade Higgins,” she said, “don't think I'm too mean!”
“Mean?” he cried. “Why, no! What? How—”
“Try to imagine you were a girl, Comrade Higgins. You can't propose to a man, can you?”
“Why, no—that is—”
“That is, not if you want him to accept! You have to make him do it. And maybe he's shy, and don't do it, and you have to put the idea in his head for him. Or maybe he's not sure he wants you, and you have to make him realize how very desirable you are! Maybe you have to scare him, making him think you're going to run off with somebody else! Don't you see how it is with a girl?”
Jimmie was still bady dazed, but he saw enough to enable him to stammer, “Yes.” And Comrade Baskerville—that is, Comrade Mrs. Gerrity—gave him her hand again.