She smiled ever so faintly. "Oh, yes," she said, with heartfelt fervor.
Chris laughed. "Well--I"ll take you for a ride in the car to-morrow, if you like," he said, casually.
Marie could not have explained why, but she felt sure that this was not what he had originally intended to say to her, but she answered at once: "Yes, I should love it!"
It was the first ride of many, the first of many blissful days that followed, for Christopher no longer went out and about with his friends. He stayed at home with Marie and Miss Chester.
Sometimes he seemed a little restless and impatient, Marie thought.
Often she caught him yawning and looking at the clock as if he were anxiously waiting for something, or for time to pa.s.s, but she was too happy to be critical. He was with her often, and that was all that mattered.
And then--quite suddenly--the miracle happened!
It was one Sunday evening--a golden Sunday in June, when London seemed sunbaked and breathless, and one instinctively longed for the sea or the country.
Miss Chester had had friends to tea, but they had gone now, and Chris was prowling round the drawing-room, with its heavy, old-fashioned furniture, hands in pockets, as if he did not know what to do with himself.
Half a dozen times he looked at Marie--half a dozen times he took a step towards the door and came back again. There was an oddly nervous expression in his blue eyes, and his careless lips no longer smiled.
Miss Chester had been very silent, too, since the visitors left, and presently, with a little murmured excuse, she gathered up her work and went out of the room.
Chris swallowed hard and ran a finger round his collar, as if he suddenly found it too tight, and his voice sounded all strangled and jerky, when suddenly he said:
"Put on your hat and come out, Marie Celeste! I can"t breathe--it"s stifling indoors."
He had always called Marie "Marie Celeste" since their childhood.
It had been his boy"s way of pretending to scorn her French name, but Marie liked it, as she liked everything he chose to do or say.
She rose now with alacrity. She was ready in a few minutes, and they went out together into the deserted streets.
It was very hot still, and Chris suggested they should go down to the Embankment.
"There"ll be a breeze," he said.
It was a very silent walk, though Marie did not notice it She was perfectly happy; she was sure that every woman they pa.s.sed must be envying her for walking with such a companion. Now and then she looked up at him with adoring eyes.
They walked along the Embankment, and away from it towards Westminster Abbey. There was a service going on inside, and through the open doors they could hear the wonderful strains of the organ.
Marie stopped to listen--she loved music, and Chris stopped, too, though he fidgeted restlessly, and drew patterns with his stick on the dusty path at his feet.
When they walked on again he said abruptly:
"We"ve got on very well since you came home--eh, Marie Celeste?"
Her dark eyes were raised to his face.
"Oh, Chris! Of course!"
He frowned a little.
"I mean--do you think we should always get on as well?" he asked, with an effort.
She was miles away from understanding his meaning, but something in his voice set her heart beating fast. When she tried to answer, her voice died away helplessly.
Christopher looked down at her, then he said with a rush: "The fact is--I mean--will you marry me?"
Marie stopped dead. All power of movement had deserted her. A wave of crimson surged over her face, rushing away again and leaving her as white as the little rose which she wore in her black frock.
Chris slipped a hand through her arm. He was afraid that she was going to faint. He was feeling pretty bad himself.
"Well, is it so dreadful to think about?" he asked with a mirthless laugh.
"Dreadful!" She found her voice with a gasp. The sudden rapture that flooded her heart was almost unbearable. But for his arm in hers, she was sure she would have fallen.
There was a seat close by, and Chris made her sit down. He sat beside her and stared at his feet while she recovered a little, then he looked up with a strained smile.
"Well, do you think you could put up with me for the rest of your life?" he asked.
Marie"s face was radiant. n.o.body could ever have said then that she was not pretty. Her eyes were like stars. She seemed to have blossomed all at once into perfect womanhood.
She wanted to say so many things to him, but no words would come.
She just gave him her hand, and his fingers closed hard about it.
For a little they sat without speaking, while through the open doors of the cathedral came the wonderful strains of the organ.
Then suddenly it ceased, and Chris took his hand away as if the spell that had been laid upon them was broken.
He rose to his feet, looking a little abashed.
"Well, then--we can tell Aunt Madge that we"re engaged?" he said.
"Yes."
But even then she could not believe it She dreaded lest with every moment she would wake and find it all a dream.
But it was still a reality when they got back home, and Aunt Madge pretended to be surprised, and cried and kissed them both, and said she had never been so glad about anything.
She wanted them to have a gla.s.s of wine to celebrate the occasion, though, as a rule, she was a staunch teetotaler, but Chris said no, he could not stay--he had an appointment. He went off in a great hurry, hardly saying good-night, and promising to be round early in the morning.
At the doorway he stopped and looked back at the two women.
"I"ll--er--you must have a ring, Marie Celeste," he said. "I"ll-- er--I"ll tell them to send some round," and he was gone.
It was a strange wooing altogether, but to Marie there was nothing amiss. She was in the seventh heaven of happiness. When she went to bed she looked out at the starry sky, and wished she were clever enough to write a poem about this most wonderful of nights.
She saw nothing wrong with the days that followed either. To be awkwardly kissed by Chris--even on the cheek--was a delirious happiness; to wear his ring, joy unspeakable; to be out and about with him, all that she asked of life.
The wedding was to be soon. There was nothing to wait for, so Chris and Aunt Madge agreed. They also agreed that it must of necessity be quiet, owing to their mourning. Marie Celeste agreed to everything--she was still living in the clouds. She could hardly come down to earth sufficiently to choose frocks and look at petticoats and silk stockings.
Aston Knight, a friend of Christopher"s, was to be best man, and Marie"s special school chum, Dorothy Webber, was to be maid of honor.