Then Silvette did a curious thing. She sat down at Mr. Rivett's desk and bent her head over the blotter, and sat so, with her small handkerchief against her eyes.
There was not a sound from her nor from Mr. Rivett.
For a long while she sat there, finally burying her face in her handkerchief and both hands.
She merely nodded in sign that she had heard him.
He said quietly: "You _are_ in love with Jack."
"Your loyalty to honor deceived a very gentle heart," he said; "you loved him all the time."
[Illustration: "'Your loyalty to honor deceived a very gentle heart,' he said."]
"We could ask no better woman for our daughter," he said. "I was very blind. Jack knew, but his mother knew best of all. My wife is very wise, Silvette--far wiser than I.... And I have--I am in debt--to the name you bear. I thought by giving you my boy I was canceling it.... You put me under obligations I am unable to meet--unless you can accept my--affection--as collateral. Can you, child?"
Her hand moved slightly--moved farther across the polished surface of the desk. His hand fell over it.
They remained silent for a few moments; then he gently relinquished her hand and went out, leaving the door just ajar.
When Silvette lifted her head from the desk, she knew that Jack had entered.
Tall and quiet, he stood looking at her; tall and pale, she rose, looked at him steadily, came toward him as he moved toward her, and laid both hands fearlessly in his.
"I didn't know," she said. "I wouldn't let myself even think of you.... Do you want me, Jack?"
Then down he went on one knee, and kissed hers, and her hands, and her gown; and, confused, she drew away, then waited as he rose waited, looking at him as his arm encircled her.
Very gravely they exchanged their first kiss.
That seemed to break the divine spell, for they found their tongues very quickly now, and, sitting perched on his father's desk, side by side, feet hanging, and hand in hand, they succumbed to the rapture of garrulity, asking Love's same old questions with all the ardor of neophytes, and answering as Love has answered for many a century, and will answer for many more--tritely, passionately, and with that incurable redundance of which lovers alone are masters.