"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked, as he struck a match.

Then he came to himself.

"I beg your pardon," he cried, flinging away match and cigarette. "I don't
want to smoke. I didn't mean that at all. What I mean is--"

He bent over Loretta, caught her hands in his, then sat on the arm of the
chair and softly put one arm around her.

"Loretta, I am a fool. I mean it. And I mean something more. I want you
to be my wife."

He waited anxiously in the pause that followed.

"You might answer me," he urged.

"I will . . . if--"

"Yes, go on. If what?"

"If I don't have to marry Billy."

"You can't marry both of us," he almost shouted.

"And it isn't the custom . . . what. . . what Billy said?"

"No, it isn't the custom. Now, Loretta, will you marry me?"