"
For the instant Harleston was too amazed for words; and, despite all his
training in dissimulation, his surprise was evidenced in his face. Small
wonder he had been unable to make out the play--it was not a play; she
meant it. She was ready to throw her mission overboard to attain her
personal end.
"Will you marry me, old enemy?" she whispered, putting out her hand to
him and smiting him with a ravishing smile--a smile such as she had had
for but one other man. It had been utterly lost on that other, but it
had almost won with Harleston; and it might have won now with him but
for another's smile, she of the ruddy tresses and peach-blow cheek.
"My dear Madeline," said he slowly, holding her hand with intimate
pressure, "I cannot permit you to betray yourself for me. You are--"
"Quite old enough in the ways of the world," she interjected, "to know
my own mind. I love you, Guy, and unless I've mistaken your attitude,
you love me. When our minds meet in such a matter, why should anything
be permitted to intervene?" Her hand still lay in his; her eyes held
his; her personality fairly enveloped them. With lips a little parted,
she bent toward him. "It's a bit unusual, dear, for the woman to
propose, to the man, but we are an unusual two, and the business of life
has shaken us free from the conventions of the drawing-room and frothy
society.
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