"Hush; here comes Carmen."
And our voices grew faint in the swell of melody. Mrs. Wentworth was
entranced; her daughter was fondly gazing at the back of her fiance's
head; Phyllis had turned her face from me to the stage. As for myself,
I was not particularly interested in the cigarette girl. It was
running through my head that the hour had arrived. I patted my gloves
for a moment, then I drew a long breath.
"Phyllis!" said I. There was a quaver in my voice. Perhaps I had not
spoken loud enough. "Phyllis!" said I again.
She turned quickly and gave me an inquiring and at the same time
nervous glance.
"What is it?"
"I want to tell you something I have never dared to tell you till now,"
I said earnestly. The voice on the stage soared heavenward. "I love
you. Will you be my wife?"
Ah, me! where were those drooping eyelids, that flush, that shy, sweet
glance of which I had so often dreamt? Phyllis was frowning.
"Jack, I have been afraid of this," she said. "I am so sorry, but it
cannot be."
"Oh, do not say that now," I cried, crushing my gloves. "Wait awhile;
perhaps you may learn to love me.
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