"Isn't it a lovely night?" murmured Selma appreciatively. "There they
go," she added, indicating the disappearance over the brow of a hill of
the last of the line of vehicles of the rest of the party, whose songs
had come back fainter and fainter.

"I don't care. Do you?" He snuggled toward her a very little.

"I guess they won't think I'm lost," she said, with a low laugh.

"What d'you suppose your folks would say if you _were_ lost? I mean if I
were to run away with you and didn't bring you back?" There was a
nervous ring in the guffaw which concluded his question.

"My friends wouldn't miss me much; at least they'd soon get over the
shock; but I might miss myself, Mr. Babcock."

Selma was wondering why it was that she rather liked being alone with
this man, big enough, indeed, to play the monster, yet half school-boy,
but a man who had done well in his calling. He must be capable; he could
give her a home in Benham; and it was plain that he loved her.

"I'll tell you something," he said, eagerly, ignoring her suggestion.
"I'd like to run away with you and be married to-night, Selma. That's
what I'd like, and I guess you won't. But it's the burning wish of my
heart that you'd marry me some time. I want you to be my wife. I'm a
rough fellow along-side of you, Selma, but I'd do well by you; I would.
I'm able to look after you, and you shall have all you want. There's a
nice little house building now in Benham. Say the word and I'll buy it
for us to-morrow. I'm crazy after you, Selma."