I rode back to Tunbridge in the coach, with Dorothy at my side and with
Gerald recumbent upon the front seat,--where, after ten minutes' driving
the boy very philanthropically fell asleep.
"And you have not," I immediately asserted--"after all, you have not given
me the answer which was to-night to decide whether I be of all mankind the
most fortunate or the most miserable. And 'tis nearing twelve."
"What choice have I?" she murmured; "after to-night is it not doubly
apparent that you need some one to take care of you? And, besides, this is
your eighth proposal, and the ninth I had always rather meant to accept,
because I have been in love with you for two whole weeks."
My heart stood still. And shall I confess that for an instant my wits,
too, paused to play the gourmet with my emotions? She sat beside me in the
darkness, you understand, waiting, mine to touch. And everywhere the world
was filled with beautiful, kind people, and overhead God smiled down upon
His world, and a careless seraph had left open the door of Heaven, so that
quite a deal of its splendor flooded the world about us. And the snoring
of Gerald was now inaudible because of a stately music which was playing
somewhere.
"Frank--!" she breathed. And I noted that her voice was no less tender than
her lips.