Constance ordered tea and a bite of something to eat for both.  Brock’s gaze never left her exquisite face while she was engaged in the pretty but rather self-conscious occupation of instructing the waitress.  After the girl had departed, he leaned forward across the little table and said, a trifle hoarsely and disjointedly,—­

“It was most appetising to watch you do that.  I could live forever on nothing but tea and sandwiches if you were to order them.”

“You’ve said a great many silly things to me this afternoon.”

“I wonder—­” he stopped and lowered his voice—­“I wonder if you would call it silly if I were to tell you that I love you, very, very much.”  His gloved hand dropped upon hers as she fumbled aimlessly with the menu card; something in the very helplessness of that long slim hand drew the strength of all his love toward it—­all of this confident, arrogant love that had come to be so sure of itself in these last days.  His grey eyes, dark with the purpose of his passion, took on a new and impelling glow; she looked into them for an instant, the wavering smile of last resort on her parted lips; then her lids dropped quickly and her lip trembled.

“I should still think you very silly,” she said in a very low voice, “unless—­unless you do love me.”

His fingers closed so tightly upon hers that she looked up, her eyes swimming with tenderness.  Neither spoke for a long minute, but words were not needed to tell what the soul was saying through the eyes.

“I do love you—­you know I do, Connie.  I’ve loved you from the first day.  I cannot live without you, Connie, darling, you won’t keep me waiting?  You will be my wife—­you will marry me at once?  You do love me, I know—­I’ve known it for days and days—­”

She whimsically broke in upon his passionate declaration, saying with a pretty petulance:  “Oh, you have?  What insufferable conceit!  I—­”

He laughed joyously.  “I never was so sure of anything in my life,” he said.  “You couldn’t help loving me, Constance; I’ve loved you so.  You don’t have to tell me, dear; I know.  Still, I’d like to hear you say, with those dear lips as well as with your eyes, that you love me.”

She put her hand upon the back of the broad one which held the other imprisoned; there was a proud, earnest light in her eyes.  “I do love you,” she said simply.

“God, but I’m a happy man,” he exulted.  Forgetful of the time and the place, he half arose and, leaning forward, kissed her full upon the upturned lips.

There was a rattling of chinaware behind them.  In no little confusion both came tumbling down from Paradise, and found themselves under the abashed scrutiny of a very red-faced young serving-woman.

“Oh, never mind,” stammered Gretchen quite amiably.  “I am used to that, madame.  A great many ladies and gentlemen come here to—­to—­what you call it?” She placed the tea and sandwiches before them, her fingers all thumbs, her cheeks aglow.