Thinking over, next day, the events of the previous afternoon, Preston smiled at the thought of all that had occurred. Had anybody told him in the morning that within four-and-twenty hours he would be engaged to be married, he could have laughed the speaker to scorn. Yet, as so often happens, the seemingly impossible had come about, and he began seriously to review the situation.
Yes, he was happy. Very happy. Of that he felt convinced. Often in his time he had met a girl with whom he thought he might be happy should she consent to become his wife, but he had never felt sufficiently sure of himself to propose. And now he thanked heaven for that diffidence, for he knew the only woman in the world he had ever really wanted as a wife was Yootha Hagerston.
They did not meet again until the following afternoon. He had telephoned about noon to ask if she would have tea with him at his rooms in Fig Tree Court, and her reply was what might have been expected.
“My darling,” he exclaimed, folding her in his arms and pressing her lips to his as they met in the little passage which his servant called “the hall.” “If you knew how happy you have made me, how I now realize that for weeks past I have wanted you to become mine—mine for ever——”
He stopped, for she was sobbing, clinging to him as though she could never let him go.
“What is it? What is the matter?” he exclaimed in alarm, raising her face from his shoulder and trying to look into her eyes. “Why are you crying, Yootha?”
And then, all at once, he realized that her tears were tears of happiness.
“Only one thing makes me anxious, Charlie,” she said later, after tea, “and that is that something may come between us—and prevent our marriage. I don’t know why, but I have a presentiment, a sort of feeling—oh, I can’t explain, I don’t know what it is, I hardly know what I am saying I feel so happy, so absolutely and perfectly happy. But can we hurry on the wedding, dearest? Couldn’t we be married by special license, or something. I don’t want to wait a day longer, not an hour longer than is absolutely necessary. Life is so uncertain, you know, and such strange and unlooked-for things sometimes happen. Tell me, Charlie, must we go to the ball Thursday night?”
“At the Albert Hall? I am afraid I must, darling, because I have made up a party, as you know. Don’t you want to go? I thought you were looking forward to it.”
“I was, but now I would rather not go. Still, if you must go, of course, I’ll come with you. But I shall be glad when it is over. I can’t think why, but the thought of that ball now seems somehow to frighten me. It didn’t until we became engaged.”