like that in a school reading book, but it's very touching, of course."
"Oh—if you're going to mock my holiest sentiments," he said lightly—and withdrew from the attack.
The moment seemed to flutter near again when she said good night to him in the porch where the violet clematis swung against his head as he stood. This time his opening was better inspired.
"Dolly, dear," he said, "how am I ever to go away?"
Her heart leaped against her side, for his tone was tender. But so may a cousin's tone be—even a second cousin's, and when one is thirty-five she has little to fear from the pitying tenderness of her relations.
"I am so glad you have liked being here," she said sedately. "You must come again some time."
"I don't want to go away at all," he said. "Dolly, won't you let me stay—won't you marry me?"
Almost as he took her hand she snatched it from him.
