I must stand by my word . Marian Lindsay was the woman I had asked to marry me , whose answer I must shortly go to receive . If that answer were `` yes '' I must accept the situation and banish all thought of Dorothy Armstrong 's pretty face . Next evening at sunset I went to `` Glenwood , '' the Lindsay place . Doubtless , an eager lover might have gone earlier , but an eager lover I certainly was not . Probably Marian was expecting me and had given orders concerning me , for the maid who came to the door conveyed me to a little room behind the stairs -- a room which , as I felt as soon as I entered it , was a woman 's pet domain . In its books and pictures and flowers it spoke eloquently of dainty femininity . Somehow , it suited the letters . I did not feel quite so much the stranger as I had felt . Nevertheless , when I heard a light footfall on the stairs my heart beat painfully . I stood up and turned to the door , but I could not look up . The footsteps came nearer ; I knew that a white hand swept aside the portière at the entrance ; I knew that she had entered the room and was standing before me . With an effort I raised my eyes and looked at her . She stood , tall and gracious , in a ruby splendour of sunset falling through the window beside her . The light quivered like living radiance over a dark proud head , a white throat , and a face before whose perfect loveliness the memory of Dorothy Armstrong 's laughing prettiness faded like a star in the sunrise , nevermore in the fullness of the day to be remembered . Yet it was not of her beauty I thought as I stood spellbound before her . I seemed to see a dim little valley full of whispering pines , and a girl standing under their shadows , looking at me with the same great , greyish-blue eyes which gazed upon me now from Marian Lindsay 's face -- the same face , matured into gracious womanhood , that I had seen ten years ago ; and loved -- aye , loved -- ever since . I took an unsteady step forward . `` Marian ? '' I said .
* * * * * When I got home that night I burned Dorothy XXXXX 's photograph .
Armstrong Doubtless Glenwood Lindsay Marian books nevermore portière splendour throat