"I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. Your aunt liked the pheasant. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Jackson took an accurate survey of the room with his one eye, Mr. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. And the fences are down for good.
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