nd moon, all combined to weave a spell,
just as Mrs. Norris planned that they should.

Tom had come to the picnic prepared to speak his mind, not doubting that
an opportunity would be given him. He had not memorized a speech, but
was ready to trust to the inspiration of the moment. His cause was an
honest one; he might expect the gift of tongues, but the starting gun
had now been fired, the race was on, and he was not granted the gift of
tongues. A little preparation might not have been amiss, after all.

"I agree with you about Woodbridge. In fact, I think had rather go on
living here than anywhere else in the world, provided one thing." He
had plunged in without the gift of tongues.

It was not so dark but that Tom could see the colour come into her face.
"Provided what, Tom?"

"Provided I can have you, Nancy. Provided you can love me as I love
you." He had come nearer her, and although he had brought both feet upon
the magic carpet, they remained stationary. "You mean more to me than
anything I have ever known. I used to wonder how I could ever think more
of anyone than I thought of Woodbridge and the Star and the different
boys in college, but that was nothing compared to this." Nancy was
tracing a series of geometrical patterns upon the magic carpet with a
bit of stick. "I wish I could do something to show you how much I care
now." Still Nancy said nothing. "And, oh, Nancy, what you could do for
me! With you to help me, I think I could do anything. But I know I need
you. Nancy, will you marry me?"

Nancy was hardly prepared for this. She had, since the social service
fiasco, acknowledged to herself that she had grown in that short space
very fond of Tom. She looked forward to seeing him, and when he was gone
she went over with pleasure what he had said and how he had looked. She
liked his drollery and his strength, she admired his poise and
self-reliance; and she had the greatest respect for his teaching
ability, of which she had received direct proof. Still, she was not at
all sure that she wished to marry him. After all, she had really known
him only something over a month, and it was not the Whitman way to hurry
into anything--least of all into matrimony.

"You mustn't ask me that, Tom."

"Why not, Nancy?"

"Because I cannot accept; not now."

"You mean that perhaps you can later? For of course I shall never grow
tired of asking you."

The moon had climbed a little and had turned a silvery yellow. It