I fancied you were indefinitely
domiciled at the farm. Aunt Agatha has been fussing--"
"I was," nodded Diane. "A whim of mine brought me home."
Carl dropped easily into a chair and glanced at his cousin's profile.
The delicate oval of her face was firelit; her night-black hair one
with the deeper shadows of the room. There was mystery in the lovely
dusk of Diane's eyes--and discontent--and something mute and wistful
crying for expression.
"I've a proposition to make," said Carl lightly. "It's partly
commercial, partly belated justice, partly eugenic and partly personal."
"Your money is quite gone, is it not?" asked Diane, raising finely
arched expressive eyebrows.
"It is," admitted Carl ruefully. "My career as a bibulous meteor is
over. Last night, after an exquisite shower of golden fire, I came
tumbling to earth in the fashion of meteors, a disillusioned stone. In
other words--stone broke. May I smoke?"
"Assuredly."
Carl lighted a cigarette.
"And the proposition which is at the same time commercial, eugenic
and--er--personal?" reminded Diane curiously. Carl ignored the
delicate note of sarcasm.
"It is merely," he said with a flash of impudence, "that you will marry
me."
Diane's eyes widened.
"How frankly commercial!" she murmured.
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