Barbara gave a start of pain and murmured, "I do." Her heart burned with the knowledge that he was waiting for her uplifted glance. He began again.
"The true value of Rosemont never came out of Widewood. It's the coined wealth of your mother's character and yours!" He ceased in a sudden rage of love as he saw the colors of the rose deepen slowly on the beautiful, half-averted face, and then, for very trepidation, hurried on. "O understand me, I will not be robbed! Major Garnet cannot have Rosemont. But no one shall ever know I have not bought it of him. And it shall first be yours; yours in law and trade as it is now in right. Then, if you will, you, who have been its spirit and soul, shall keep it and be so still. But if you will not, then we, my mother and I, will buy it of you at a fair price. For, Miss – Miss – "
"Barb – " she murmured.
"O thank you!" cried he. "A thousand times! And a thousand times I promise you I'll never misunderstand you again! But hem! – to return to the subject; Miss Barb – I – O well, I was going to add merely that – that, eh – I – hem! – that, eh – O – However!" She raised her eyes and he turned crimson as he stammered, "I – I – I've forgotten what I was going to say!"
"I can neither keep Rosemont nor sell it, Mr. March. It's yours. It's yours every way. It's yours in the public wish; my father told me so last night. And there's a poetic justice – "
"Poetic – O!"
"Mr. March, didn't we once agree that God gives us our lives in the rough for us to shape them into poetry – that it's poetry, whether sad or gay, that makes alive – and that it's only the prose that kills?"
"Oh! do you remember that?"
"Yes." Her eyes fell again. "It was the time you asked me to use your first name."
"O! Miss Barb, are you still going to hold that against me?"
"Rosemont should be yours, Mr. March. It rhymes!" She stood up.
"No! No, no! I give it to you!" he said, springing to his feet.
"Will you, really, Mr. March?" She moved a step toward the door.
"O Miss Barb, I do! I do!"
"But your mother's consent – "
A pang of incertitude troubled his brave face for an instant, but then he said, "Oh, there can be no doubt! Let me go and get it!" He started.
"No," she falteringly said, "don't do it."
"Yes! Yes! Say yes! Tell me to go!" He caught her hand beseechingly. As their eyes gazed into each other's, hers suddenly filled and fell.
"Go," was her one soft word. But as he reached the door another stopped him:
"John – "
He turned and stood trembling from head to foot, his brow fretted with an agony of doubt. "Oh, Barbara Garnet!" he cried, "why did you say that?"
"Johanna told me," she murmured, smiling through her tears.
He started with half-lifted arms, but stopped, turned, and with a hand on his brow, sighed, "My mother!"
But a touch rested on his arm and a voice that was never in life to be strange to him again said, "If you don't say 'our mother,' I won't call you John any – "
Oh! Oh! Oh! men are so rough sometimes!