Sara Lee, in a black dress, admitted him. When he had taken off his
ulster and his overshoes--he had been raised by women--and came in,
she was standing by the fire.
"Raining," he said. "It's getting colder. May be snow before morning."
Then he stopped. Sometimes the wonder of Sara Lee got him in the throat.
She had so much the look of being poised for flight. Even in her
quietest moments there was that about her--a sort of repressed
eagerness, a look of seeing things far away. Aunt Harriet said that
there were times when she had a "flighty" look.
And that night it was that impression of elusiveness that stopped
Harvey's amiable prattle about the weather and took him to her with his
arms out.
"Sara Lee!" he said. "Don't look like that!"
"Like what?" said Sara Lee prosaically.
"I don't know," he muttered. "You--sometimes you look as though--"
Then he put his arms round her. "I love you," he said. "I'll be good
to you, Sara Lee, if you'll have me." He bent down and put his cheek
against hers. "If you'll only marry me, dear."
A woman has a way of thinking most clearly and lucidly when the man has
stopped thinking. With his arms about her Harvey could only feel.
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