“Dan…. You don’t wish it–truly?”
“I do wish it, truly. To-day, at four. The Church of the Transfiguration. Yes, I’ll scare up a best man if you’ll find bridesmaids. Now you will, won’t you?”
“I–if you wish it, dear.”
“I’ll have to ask you to repeat that.”
“I shan’t. There!”
“Very well,” meekly. “But will you tell me one thing, please?”
“What is it?”
“Where on earth did you get hold of that kit of tools?”
She laughed softly. “My big Brother caught a burglar once, and kept the kit for a remembrance. I borrowed them.”
“Give me your big brother’s address and I’ll send ’em back with my thanks–No, by George! I won’t, either. I’ve as much right to keep ’em as he has on _that_ principle.”
And again she laughed, very gently and happily. Dear God, that such happiness could come to one!
“Sylvia?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you love me?”
“I think you may believe it, when I sit here at four o’clock in the morning, listening to a silly boy talk nonsense over a telephone wire.”
“But I want to hear you say so!”
“But Central–“
“I tell you Central has other things to do!”
At this juncture the voice of Central, jaded and acidulated, broke in curtly:
“Are you through?”