"My dear," answered Sir William, leaning forward, and extending his hand on the table until it was almost touching hers, "I made the proposal quite seriously and in good faith. I should not do otherwise. If you are still in a position to accept it, I make it again now." Daisy looked across at the real eagerness in the fine eyes; at the face, with its skin cleanly and handsomely tinted under the few faint lines that indicated the light passage of the years; at the hand, smooth, white and gently masterful. Then she dropped her glance; but her voice was firm and her manner direct and frank as she answered him. "I'll marry you," she said. The white hand, with a strong and gentle pressure, came over hers, until her fingers were between the thumb and the heel of the palm. Something great and calm and authoritative seemed communicated with that touch. Daisy felt quelled and dutiful, but, best of all, as she lifted her eyes to his, she knew, less by his expression than by an unexplainable feeling within herself, that she could trust him. For in all essentials--so she read and knew calmly and surely that she read aright--he was, as Daisy herself would have put it, simply, "a gentleman." "Thank you, my dear," he said, quietly, "I may say sincerely that I think we shall grow very fond of one another. Waiter!--here, please." A dress suit glided forward and an obsequious ear leaned down. The waiter knew quite thoroughly what was "doing", although by the expression on his face during the conversation between Daisy and Ware, one would have thought he was working out in his head a problem in trigonometry. "May I speak to the manager?" said Ware. The manager, who had curly jet hair, an immense slope of white waistcoat, and an Alice-blue chin, appeared in exactly fifteen seconds. "Have you," said Sir William, "a room where a marriage ceremony may be performed?" The manager started a smile--but it got no further than a slight twitch in the eye-corners before something in Sir William's expression,--though the baronet changed not a feature nor abated anything of his pleasantness--checked it. "Yes, sir," the manager answered, voice and face returning instantly to business formality; "my office is at your service, sir, if you wish." "That will do nicely, thank you," said Ware, rising; then to Daisy he said, as he offered his arm, "we will go there now--shall we?" Daisy nodded, without speaking. Her faith in him was as absolute as it was instinctive and involuntary. As the manager bowed them into the office--a room of fair size--and, partially closing the door, made polite exit, Ware handed Daisy to a seat, and himself dropped into the swivel-chair before the manager's desk and took up the telephone. "Hello!" he said, as he got his number; "that you, Mrs. Heathcote? Good evening; how's your neuralgia?... Splendid, splendid--I _am_ glad to hear that. I say, is George about?"