"Have I surprised you, Madge?" he went on. "Have I spoken too soon? We have known each other only a short time, it is true, but I could not care more for you had we been acquainted for months or years. I am not an impulsive boy—I know my own heart. I loved you from the day you came into my life. I love you now, and will always love you. I will be a good and true husband. Have you no answer for me, dear?"
The girl suddenly raised her face to his. Half-shed tears glistened in her eyes, but there was also a radiant look there which trilled his heart with unspeakable joy. He knew that he had won her.
"Madge, my sweet Madge!" he whispered.
She trembled as his arm tightened about her waist.
"Jack, do you really, really love me?"
"More than I can tell you, dear. Can you doubt me? Have you nothing to say? Do you think it so strange—"
"Strange? Yes, it is more than I dared to hope for. Don't think me unwomanly, Jack, for telling the truth, but—but I do love you with all my heart."
"Madge! You have made me the happiest man alive! God grant that I be always worthy of your affection!"
A bird began to sing overhead, and Jack thought it was the sweetest music he had ever heard, as he drew Madge to him and pressed a lover's first kiss on her lips. Side by side they sat there in the leafy retreat, heedless of time, while the afternoon sun drooped lower in the sky. They had much to talk of—many little confidences to exchange. They lived over again the events of that brief period in which they had known each other.
"You have upset all my plans," said Madge, with a pretty pout. "I was going to devote my life to art, and become a second Rosa Bonheur or Lady Butler."