"Ye—es, but I didn't know that—and—and I thought that you meant Margaret and—and Henrietta's remarks set me to thinking and then—then, pretty soon, I knew that—that I loved you, Fox, and I was very unhappy. Oh, Fox, I was unhappy!"
"I'm sorry, darling. I'm very sorry. Sally!"
She looked up at him and, as she looked, the red once more mounted slowly, flooding her throat and then her cheeks. Again she put her arms up and drew his head down.
The crimson flood had left her face and there was in it only a lovely color as she lay back in his arms. "Don't you love me, Fox?"
He laughed. "Love you! Love you! I should think it was—"
"Then," she asked, "why don't you say so, sir? You haven't said so yet—not once." His arms tightened about her. "Close, Fox, dear!" she whispered. "Hold me closer. I don't want to get away, ever."
It was getting late when they finally stood at a window from which they could see the little cream-colored house—they had got as far as that—and the grove behind it.
"I want to open that house," Fox was saying. "I want to live in it."
"I want to live in it," Sally said.
"But," he returned quickly, "you know what must happen first. How soon, Sally?"