You were like Dad, and Von. You could hold yourself in check.
You didn't make a fool of yourself."
"Not until to-day," he suggested.
"Yes, and I loved you for that, too. It was about time. I began to
think you were never going to bring up the subject again. And now that I
have offered myself you haven't even accepted."
With both hands on her shoulders he held her at arm's-length from him and
looked long into her eyes, no longer cool but seemingly pervaded with a
golden flush. The lids drooped and yet bravely did not droop as she
returned his gaze. Then he fondly and solemnly drew her to him.
"And how about that hearth and saddle of your own?" he asked, a moment
later.
"I well-nigh won to them. The grass house is my hearth, and the _Martha_
my saddle, and--and look at all the trees I've planted, to say nothing of
the sweet corn. And it's all your fault anyway. I might never have
loved you if you hadn't put the idea into my head."
"There's the _Nongassla_ coming in around the point with her boats out,"
Sheldon remarked irrelevantly. "And the Commissioner is on board. He's
going down to San Cristoval to investigate that missionary killing. We're
in luck, I must say."
"I don't see where the luck comes in," she said dolefully.
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