"
What had come over her eyelids that they refused to be raised?
"I think," he continued with a low laugh, "that I shall always call you so,
and have all rights reserved. May I?"
"I am afraid," she answered, raising her eyes, "that your poem would be
without rhyme or reason; a candle is too slight a thing for such an
assumption."
"But not a Rose Delano. I saw her to-day, and at least one sufferer would
turn to kiss your shadow. Do you know what a wonderfully beautiful thing
you have done? I came to-night to thank you; for any one who makes good
our ideals is a subject for thanks. Of course, the thing had no personal
bearing upon myself; but being an officious fellow, I thought it proper to
let you know that I know. That is my only excuse for coming."
"Did you need an excuse?"
"That, or an invitation."
"Oh, I never thought of you--as--as--"
"As a man?"
How to answer this? Then finally she said, --
"As caring to waste an evening."
"Would it be a waste? There is an old adage that one might adapt, then, 'A
wilful waste makes a woful want.' Want is a bad thing, so economy would
not be a half-bad idea. Shall we go in to your family now, or will they
not think you have been spirited away?"
He took the candle from her, and they retraced their steps.
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