"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--"