Unless someone took
pity on her when she was old and decrepit and past her work.
There was a little humorous smile about his mouth. But his eyes were
serious and pleading.
"When shall I know that you are old and decrepit?" he asked.
She was not quite sure. She thought it would be when her hair was
grey--or rather white. She had been informed by experts that her
peculiar shade of hair went white, not grey.
"I shall ask you to marry me when your hair is white," he said. "May I?"
It did not suggest any overwhelming impatience. "Yes," she answered. "In
case you haven't married yourself, and forgotten all about me."
"I shall keep you to your promise," he said quite gravely.
She felt the time had come to speak seriously. "I want you to marry,"
she said, "and be happy. I shall be troubled if you don't."
He was looking at her with those shy, worshipping eyes of his that always
made her marvel at her own wonderfulness.
"It need not do that," he answered. "It would be beautiful to be with
you always so that I might serve you. But I am quite happy, loving you.
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