“If you find what?” she exclaimed.
“Oh, I mean,” said Roderick in confusion, “I mean if I find a fortune. Don’t you know, if I get rich out in that western country—”
“And I hope and believe you will,” broke in Stella, vivaciously.
“Yes—I say, if I do succeed, may I come back for you—yes, marry you, and will you go out there with me to live?”
“Oh, Roderick, are you jesting now? You are just one of these mischievous college boys trying to touch the heart of the little college widow.” She laughed gaily at him, as if full of disbelief.
“No,” protested Roderick, “I am sincere.”
Stella Rain looked at him a moment in admiration. He was tall and strong—a veritable athlete. His face was oval and yet there was a square-jawed effect in its moulding. His eyes were dark and luminous and frank, and wore a look of matureness, of determined purpose, she had never seen there before. Finally she asked: “Do you know, Roderick, how old I am?”
As Roderick looked at her he saw there was plaintive regret in her dark sincere eyes. There was no merry-come-on in them now; at last she was serious.
“Why, no,” said Roderick, “I don’t know how old you are and I don’t care. I only know that you appeal to me more than any other woman I have ever met, and all the boys like, you, and I love you, and I want you for my wife.”
“Sit down here by my side,” said Stella. “Let me talk to you in great frankness.”