"Blossom, how can you torture me so?" he exclaimed when he had
dismounted at her side and flung his arm about her.
She drew slowly away, submissive even in her avoidance.
"I did not mean to torture you--I'm sorry," she answered humbly.
"It's come to this!" he burst out, "that I can't stand it another week
without losing my senses. I've thought till I'm distracted. Blossom,
will you marry me?"
"O Mr. Jonathan!" she gasped while her breast fluttered like a bird's.
"Not openly, of course--there's my mother to think of--but I'll take
you to Washington--we'll find a way somehow. Can't you arrange to go to
Applegate for a day or two, or let your people think you have?"
"I can--yes--" she responded in the same troubled tone. "I've a school
friend living there, and I sometimes spend several days with her."
"Then go on Saturday--no, let's see--this is Tuesday. Can you go on
Friday, darling?"
"Perhaps. I can't tell--I think so--I must see."
As he drew her forward, she bent toward him, still softly, still humbly,
and an instant later, his arms were about her and his lips pressed hers.
CHAPTER XII
THE DREAM AND THE REAL
The following Friday Abel drove Blossom in his gig to the house of her
school friend in Applegate, where she was to remain for a week.
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