"Into my head? Has it ever been out of it? I am sorry to have startled
you, dear," he continued, more gently, sitting down by her and taking
her hands in his, "but surely I have been patient. And--I am tired of
waiting."
She sat with bent head, looking at their joined hands. His hands were
smaller and whiter than his father's, but very like them in shape. If
they had been Joyselle's! If he had been able to come to her with that
question: "When will you marry me?"
"You are very good," she said slowly, after a long pause.
"Then--?"
"Suppose you tell me why this sudden frenzy of haste?"
He hesitated. "Well--we have been engaged nearly eight months--and I
love you, dear."
But she remembered Tommy's story and persisted.
"Surely, though, something must have happened to-day? You were quite
content yesterday."
He flushed. "_Eh bien, oui._ It is that my grandmother has written. In
September is to be their Golden Wedding. They are very old, and--they
want--me to bring my wife to them. Brigit," he added, his boyish face
flushing with anticipatory pink, "may I not do it?"
She rose and went to the window, her temples beating violently. For
weeks Theo had played such a subordinate _role_ in her mind, owing as
much to his native modesty as to her absorption in his father, that his
mood of to-day came to her as a shock.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190