What shall a poor girl say or do, when a strong man falters in his speech
before her, and can do nothing better than hold out his hand to finish
his broken sentence?
The poor girl said nothing, but quietly laid her ungloved hand in
his,——the little soft white hand which had ministered so tenderly and
suffered so patiently.
The blood came back to the young man’s cheeks, as he lifted it to his
lips, even as they walked there in the street, touched it gently with
them, and said,——“It is mine!”
Iris did not contradict him.