"Happy?" she whispered.
"Yes. I've failed here in every way. I've lost all. And this thing would make the bitterness endurable."
"I'd die for you," she returned. "But marry you!—Daren—dearest—it will make you the laughing-stock of Middleville."
"Whatever it makes me, I shall be proud."
"Oh, I cannot, I dare not," she burst out.
"You seem to forget the penalty for these unflattering negatives of yours," he returned, coolly, bending to her lips.
This time she did not writhe or quiver or breathe. Lane felt surrender in her, and when he lifted his face from hers he was sure. Despite the fact that he had inflexibly clamped his will to one purpose, holding his emotion in abeyance, that brief instant seemed to be the fullest of his life.
"Mel, put your arm round my neck," he commanded.
Mel obeyed.
"Now the other."