Cynthia smiled at him with her eyes: gravely, if such a thing may be said of a smile.
"Bob, how can you ask?"
"Oh, Cynthia," he cried, "if you knew what I have been through, you wouldn't have held out, I know it. I began to think I should never have you."
"But you have me now," she said, and was silent.
"Why do you look like that?" he asked.
She smiled up at him again.
"I, too, have suffered, Bob," she said. "And I have thought of you night and day."
"God bless you, sweetheart," he cried, and kissed her again,—many times. "It's all right now, isn't it? I knew my father would give his consent when he found out what you were."
The expression of pain which had troubled him crossed her face again, and she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Listen, dearest," she said, "I love you. I am doing this for you. You must understand that."