Whythe put his elbow on the back of the seat and, chin in the palm of his hand, looked at me as if we were on a desert island and there was no one else in all the world but me, and he would ask for no one else if I alone was there; and then with his other hand he tried to take out of my fingers a rose he had just pulled and given me.  I remembered in time that Jess had told me to keep my hands to myself if anybody seemed interested in them, so I put the rose on the bench and sat on my hands and asked him if he did not think Marjorie Graham a perfectly beautiful person; and he said he hadn’t noticed her sufficiently to know what she looked like, as he never saw but one face now.  And then he leaned a little closer and asked me if I knew how wonderful I was and what my eyes could do to a man’s heart if I would only let come in them what could come, and which he hoped would some day come only for him; and I asked him what it was, not knowing, as it had never been mentioned before, and he said it was a thing a man would die for.  And then he took the rose up and put it to his lips and asked me if I would marry him; asked me if I could never care for him as he cared for me, for he knew now that he had never really loved before, and if I would promise to marry him he would be in heaven, his happiness would be so great.

It was perfectly thrilling, much better than anything I have ever seen on the stage.  He tried to get one of the hands I was still sitting on, but I thought I had better not let him have it, as we were not engaged, and Jess had said no affectionaries until you are engaged.  And then, too, I remembered he had probably said the same things several times before, he seemed so familiar with them, and I had a feeling that Billy was standing by, perfectly disgusted, but ready to fish me out if I fell in.  I came pretty near falling, and then I told Whythe I wouldn’t be through college until I was twenty and I didn’t believe in waiting for anything on earth for four years, and though it was awfully nice in him to ask me to marry him, my father would have fits if he thought I was listening to him do it, and that we had better go in.

I wish I had had a kodak and could have snapped the look that came over his face when I suggested going in.  He was perfectly astonished.  Also he was indignant and grieved and the look he bent upon me was truly burning.  As for his voice—­Sothern couldn’t have surpassed it.  After a while he said he thought I had more sympathy, more understanding of a love such as his, and if I realized its depth I would not keep him waiting four years, as four years at college was all nonsense for a woman; and then he got my hand, anyhow, and I jumped up, for somebody was coming, and, besides, if we hadn’t gone in we’d have been in an argument right off, with love left out, on the subject of education and women.  I did not want him to think I was not appreciative, however, and though I went in with Mr. Keane, who