THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
"Doris!"
She turned, still clasping the photograph to her heart. There was a brief tableau. What she saw in his face was only a reflection of what he saw in hers.
"Doris, will you marry me?"
"Is it love?"—in a low, wondering whisper.
"Ay, all I am and all I have!"
The photograph slipped to the floor and the letter fluttered down beside it. What followed was one of those indescribably beautiful moments which God permits to fall to the lot of man and woman but once. They were in each other's arms without comprehending how it happened. So they stood for a space, she grasping tensely the sleeve of his coat, he smoothing her hair without consciousness of the act.
"When?" she whispered, presently.
"The first time I saw you, beyond those curtains."
"It is like that. In my heart you were always there, mistily, until I saw you that afternoon at Betty's. I thought you loved the other woman—until I heard you laugh."
He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. Then he kissed her—not as he had
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