"'Cause nobody wants to be the last one there,
'Cause everyone wants to feel like someone cares,
Someone to love with my life in their hands:
There's gotta be somebody for me like that.
'Cause nobody wants to go it on their own,
And everyone wants to know they're not alone.
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere,
There's gotta be somebody for me out there."

"Gotta Be Somebody" –Nickelback

Chapter Forty:

Despite the comfort of cool sheets and warm arms wrapped around her, the dulling effect of the painkillers as they set in, a pleasantly full belly, and an overwhelming yet oddly soothing exhaustion, Margot couldn't sleep.

She stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet, even breathing of the man beside her, unconsciously matching her own breathing to that rhythm as she turned over a single phrase in her mind, worrying it the way she might worry a stone in her hand.

The love of a good woman…

She knew Alfred had meant it kindly, as a compliment even, but she couldn't get the words out of her head, and with every repetition they seemed less kind and increasingly more condemning.

Finally, unable to keep her distress bottled up any longer, she asked aloud, "Am I a good woman? Am I a good person?"

Alfred, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be sleeping, entirely unaware of her question. His eyes were still closed when Margot glanced at him, and he was still breathing low and even. Just as her gaze left him, however, he responded in a tired murmur.

"Of course you are, pet. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. Now go to sleep."

He obviously was trying to reassure her, but Margot felt anything but reassured. She hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before finally blurting out, "It's just… I've done so many stupid things. Bad things, really."

Alfred rolled onto his back and groaned, "Margot, you're done in. You're exhausted. Rest. It's likely you won't even remember this in the morning."

She fell silent. He was right. She was probably being ridiculous. But she couldn't help wondering. Alfred had called this "Lee" person a good woman. In fact, everybody had seemed so supportive of Gordon when he'd announced his plans to find her. She was obviously well worth the effort. Margot could only imagine what she must be like: beautiful, poised, graceful and intelligent. She probably had it all together.

And Margot, well it wasn't even worth comparing herself to such a woman. She was the gardener with muddy boots, dirt under her fingernails no matter how hard she tried to clean them, and a lame leg. Not to mention all the scars and baggage she carried with her.

What did "good" even mean, anyway? Kind? She had too short of a temper for that. Decent? Moral? Nope. She'd done plenty of morally questionable things in the past. Thoughtful? No. She was selfish. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she was not a good person. Alfred needed somebody kind and soft and graceful, somebody who would always do the right thing. He didn't need somebody rough and damaged the way Margot was.

Her voice was soft and mournful as she glanced at Alfred and admitted, "I think you could do better than me, and I'm afraid that one of these days you'll realize that."

Alfred, who had closed his eyes again and had been on the verge of sleep, groaned in frustration and sat up, regarding her peevishly. "Margot," he stated in a hoarse, long-suffering tone, "nothing good is going to come of thinking the way you're thinking right now."

She shrugged helplessly, as if to say she couldn't help it.

The man sighed heavily and reached for her, taking her shoulder firmly in hand. "Look, luv, I know all about your war baggage, your little side ventures as an assassin, all those little tics and quirks you try to hide, and all the rest of your most disagreeable traits—including a particular penchant for rousing decent blokes from a good night's rest—and I'm still here. Bloody irritated and exhausted, mind you, but damn it all, Margot, I'm here, and I intend on remaining here. Now," he added huffily, "if you're quite satisfied, I am closing my eyes and going to sleep." With that, he rolled over, turning his back to her and drawing the covers up over his shoulder.

Margot, sensing he'd leave if she dared talk again, simply sighed and leaned against him, taking comfort in the fact that he was probably right. He was still there, after all. But even as she started to fall asleep, she wondered if it was enough.

"How do you feel about dinner tonight?" inquired Alfred the next morning, when Margot limped down to the kitchen for breakfast.

He was preparing poached eggs and toast, and Margot watched as he deftly slipped an egg onto the toast, cutting into the yolk and garnishing it with a sprig of watercress. He slid the plate towards her, and offered her a fork, which she took with a grateful smile.

Despite last night's doubts, Margot felt much better after a few hours' sleep. Her insecurities seemed a lot less potent when subjected to scrutiny in the daylight. Especially when she noticed the kind expression on Alfred's face and saw the way he was looking at her. In fact, she felt well enough to tease him. "Dinner sounds nice," she replied quietly, focusing on her toast. "But don't we have dinner every night?"

"You're hilarious," he responded dryly. "I was thinking we could go out tonight."

Margot feigned a shocked gasp, mostly to cover up the surprised thrill that briefly lifted her spirits. "Don't tell me you're actually considering taking a night off."

He brandished a wooden spoon at her warningly. "Don't make me change my mind."

She smiled and gave in. "All right. Where do you want to go?"

Alfred turned his attention back to preparing Bruce's breakfast as he responded, "I've taken the liberty of making reservations at Chez Parnes, if that suits your fancy." He glanced up briefly, catching Margot's eye hopefully.

"Chez Parnes? Alfred, you're not trying to impress me, are you?"

"It usually works," he replied with a small hint of a smile. "Will you be ready at seven?"

Margot cut a small triangle off of her toast and dredged it in egg yolk before popping it in her mouth. She made a show of chewing it thoughtfully, finally answering, "All right. But Alfred, I have to warn you—I don't think I have anything appropriate to wear."

He frowned slightly, almost surprised. "Really? Nothing?"

She laughed softly. "I don't garden in evening gowns, if you haven't noticed."

"You let me take care of that," he reassured her, carefully rearranging the nasturtium and lavender blossoms in a small vase on the platter.

Margot watched curiously.

"I see you're still in the habit of cutting up all my flowers," she noted, indicating the blossoms with the end of her fork.

"Your flowers?" he responded with raised brows.

"It's my job to keep the gardens looking healthy and vigorous, and you come along and pick them over."

"Speaking of, you really ought to pay more attention to the lavender. It's starting to look wilted."

"You can just stay in your kitchen," Margot retorted with a laugh. "Leave the gardening to me."

Alfred pursed his lips and shot an unamused look in her direction. He picked up the tray, but before he went to deliver Bruce's breakfast, he glanced her over and murmured, "Blue, I think. Or perhaps a dark gray."

And on that mysterious note, he left.

Margot came inside before lunch, intending to ask Alfred if he had any desire to go into town with her to look at rosebushes. He'd taken to caring for the small rose garden ever since she'd left, and he seemed to enjoy the time he spent there. Sometimes she'd catch him carefully pruning them back. Even if she didn't see him doing it, she knew the days when he did, because she'd find a rose on her nightstand or in a vase by the window.

She didn't find Alfred in the kitchen, or in his rooms, so she went to the study. The door was closed, but she could hear voices faintly through it. She was about to knock, but something held her back.

"Are you asking me permission, Alfred?"

"Yes, Master B. I suppose I am. It is your house, after all, and I am in your employ."

There was a long pause before she heard Bruce state, "I think you should."

"Thank you, sir. I agree."

"Have you decided how you're going to do it?" asked Bruce.

Do what? Margot wondered curiously to herself.

"Well…" At this, Alfred hemmed and hawed a bit. "I thought I'd keep it simple."

"She does seem the simple type," Bruce replied with a bit of amusement in his voice.

Margot frowned, suddenly suspecting that they were talking about her. But what for? Even as she thought this, she realized that the conversation had continued without her. Bruce seemed to have asked a question, and Alfred was in the middle of answering.

"…because I know she'd do anything for you," said Alfred. "Just as I would. Now, if you haven't any more questions, shall I prepare you something for lunch, sir?"

"Yes, Alfred. I'd like that. Thank you."

"Of course, Master B."

Margot hurriedly dodged for the nearest alcove, hiding in the shadows as Alfred left the study and made his way quietly down the corridor. She waited for longer than necessary before leaving her hiding place, still trying to figure out what she'd just heard.

When she was sure she wouldn't be caught, she went back out to the gardens, mostly to seem busy. Why would Alfred be talking to Bruce about her? And what, she wondered, was he asking permission for?

She was pulling weeds from the herb garden, only to find herself pulling out the dill, when her phone buzzed in her back pocket, startling her out of her work.

It was Bruce.

"Alfred says to come in and wash up for lunch."

Margot was silent for a moment. "Where are you?" she inquired flatly.

"I'm in the kitchen. Why?"

"Do me a favor and look out the back window."

She stood, and a moment later, Bruce's face appeared in the window. He caught sight of her and smiled, opening the window to shout, "Come inside!"

Margot wiped her face with her handkerchief, which she tossed at Bruce as she entered the kitchen. "I can't believe you called me for that when I was literally right outside," she snorted with irritated amusement.

"Hey!" he protested, following her to the table. "I didn't know you were out back. You could have been down on the south grounds for all I knew."

Alfred turned to greet her with a brief kiss that tasted like a vinaigrette dressing, which he'd apparently just sampled out of a bowl on the counter.

"You wouldn't believe who just called me," she murmured, throwing an accusing glance back at Bruce.

"I don't see the point in searching the grounds for you when I can just pick up a phone," grumbled the boy.

"Help me set the table," Margot simply replied, going to the cupboards to reach down the plates.

Bruce dutifully went for the silverware, poking Margot in the side with a fork as he passed by.

"Hey!" She swatted him with one of the plates.

"Hey!" He jabbed at her with the fork again, which she fended off with her plate.

"Really?" Alfred interrupted.

Both turned guiltily to face the man, who regarded them with reproach. "Do I need to separate the pair of you?"

"No," Margot retorted, eyeing the boy accusingly. "Bruce would just call me again on his phone."

"Finish up, will you?" Alfred responded impatiently. "Lunch is ready."

The food was, as usual, excellent in Margot's opinion. Of course, before she'd come to live at the manor, she'd become accustomed to a certain kind of food, mostly boxed or canned. Anything was good compared to her previous fare.

Bruce only picked at his food, excusing himself early to return to the study. Alfred looked reproachfully at the boy, but didn't stop him.

It left them on their own. Margot sensed an unnatural tension in the room, much of which was probably her own doing, stemming from the awkwardness of overhearing Alfred's conversation with Bruce. Part of her simply wanted to bring it up and ask the man pointblank what he'd discussed with the boy, but the rest of her was mortified at the idea of admitting that she'd been eavesdropping.

Instead, she simply stated hesitantly, "I'm looking forward to dinner tonight."

Alfred smiled slightly and nodded. "Good."

And with that, she simply fled, leaving the butler alone in the kitchen with the leftovers of lunch on the table.

Margot found a large, flat box waiting for her on her bed when she came inside that evening. Curious, she approached and opened it. Inside lay a dark charcoal gown, carefully folded. Lifting it gently from its bed of tissue paper, she held it aloft and examined it quietly. It was beautiful, the most exquisite item of clothing she'd ever touched.

Funnily enough, the first thing that came to her mind was how Alfred could afford something like it on a butler's salary. What was a butler's salary anyway? Obviously quite a bit more than a gardener's.

On the floor, her foot brushed against a bag. Margot set the dress down and reached into the bag, pulling out a pair of shoes. Flats, she noticed with a smile. She hadn't been able to walk in heels since the bomb. Trust Alfred to consider something like that.

Margot wasn't one to care for nice clothes, which was why she was surprised to feel so eager to try them on. She hurriedly showered, scrubbing herself clean, trying to get all of the dirt out from under her fingernails.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to look nice. What had she worn to her mother's funeral? Probably a pair of dark slacks and a hoodie. She couldn't recall. She didn't really want to remember that anyway.

Somebody had been paying attention, she thought as she put on the dress. It fit. Either Alfred was very good at guessing sizes, or he'd been through her clothes while she was out working. Not that she'd notice any signs of rummaging if he had gone through her drawers. In fact, he probably would have left her things more organized if anything.

She touched up her makeup, staring at herself in the mirror, her hazel eyes critical and full of doubt. She felt unnatural, as if she didn't belong to that pretty face in the mirror. It wasn't that Margot didn't think she was attractive, and honestly, she didn't care either way. But there was so much behind that face, so much that she hid, that the face itself started to look like porcelain—fixed and false. She wasn't sure how she expected herself to look, but she knew that she felt much more natural when her face was smeared with dirt and fertilizer, her dark hair coming free of its restraints.

Speaking of, Margot wondered if her hair wasn't just a little too stiff that evening, pulled back in her militaristic bun. She wasn't in her dress blues; she wasn't going to a uniform inspection. Reluctantly, she pulled her hair loose and let it fall around her shoulders. It felt strange to let it down, and she wasn't sure she liked it, but before she could do anything about it, she heard a knock on the door.

Margot rose from her place at the vanity and made her way to the door, snatching her purse off of a nearby chair as she went. She reached for the knob, but hesitated for a moment, steeling herself before she answered the door.

Alfred looked as if he had been ready to say something, but the words left him when he caught sight of her.

"My God," he blurted out instead.

"I know," she replied self-consciously, preempting any possible teasing. "You didn't realize I had a face under all that dirt. You weren't even sure I was a woman."

Alfred didn't even seem to hear her. "Margot," he whispered, "You look beautiful tonight."

She flushed, embarrassed by the uncharacteristic compliment.

He leaned in to greet her with a kiss, short and pleasant. He was quiet as they both limped out front, where the car was waiting for them, but he kept casting surreptitious glances in Margot's direction.

"Where's Bruce?" she asked as he opened the door for her, patiently waiting for her to get in. "Is he not coming?"

Alfred smiled and closed her door. "Most women wouldn't assume that I'd bring the boy along on a date," he pointed out as he got into the driver's seat.

She simply glanced at him expectantly. "Well?"

"I invited him," Alfred admitted as they passed through the gates and onto the road. "He declined. I think even he believes we should have a night out alone."

"I suppose it could be romantic," she replied with a shrug.

He glanced at her. "That's what I was hoping. Still," he added, reaching for her hand and squeezing it as he returned his attention to the road. "I'm glad you thought of Bruce."

"Of course," she whispered, turning her gaze out through the windows.

Chez Parnes was a restaurant in Gotham's Diamond district, on the top floor of one of the many high-rise structures. The maître d' greeted Alfred with a friendly smile and nod, as if they knew each other, and Alfred quietly requested a table by the window.

Margot couldn't help but lean in and whisper into his ear, "You sure you want to sit by the window?"

"Why not?" he inquired with a slight frown.

"Snipers."

He regarded her flatly. "This isn't a war-zone, Margot."

"Says who?" she replied under her breath.

She only felt a little uncomfortable as they took their seats, glancing tentatively through the window and out into the darkness. Other buildings around them rose like pillars of light, while below the traffic stopped and started, like a river of brightly colored beads.

"Everything looks prettier through the glass," she noted quietly, touching her fingers to the window. "It's like a different city."

Alfred peered over his menu at her, considering her curiously. "You were raised in Gotham, weren't you?"

She nodded. "It was very claustrophobic," she said thoughtfully, trailing off as the waiter approached to take their drink orders.

Margot let Alfred order for her. She trusted his judgement, and she thought it was interesting to watch him interact in an environment where he wasn't the one serving. She noticed that as the waiter left, Alfred checked his pocket watch, running his thumb thoughtfully over its face before he closed it and tucked it back into place.

She could tell his thoughts were on Bruce, alone at Wayne Manor.

"Did Bruce mention why he didn't want to come along?" she inquired, adding, "Other than for our benefit."

Alfred frowned slightly. "You think he might be up to something?"

"Do you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I wouldn't put it past the little bugger, though."

She smiled and laughed softly. "He'll be fine, Alfred." She reached out and put her hand over his.

He nodded, trying to seem convinced, but his mind still seemed to be elsewhere, even once their food arrived.

It was excellent, Margot had to admit, though she had no idea what it was. Some kind of white meat, with a sweet dark sauce and a garnish of bitter herbs. It paired very well with the pinot noir, and again she found herself impressed by the man's knowledge of food and wine. How did he know so much about so many things? It was almost a superpower, she thought wryly to herself. Granted, the man had at least one weakness, and that was Bruce.

Halfway through the meal, he'd glanced one too many times at that watch of his, and finally Margot felt that she had to say something.

"Alfred," she said gently, "why don't we go home early?"

A small bit of panic flashed across his face. "God, I'm not boring you, am I?"

"No," she reassured him with a smile. "That story about the one-legged sadhu you met in Punjab was incredible. Perhaps a little too incredible," she teased, adding a little more seriously, "You just…seem worried."

He sighed and shook his head with chagrin. "I can't stop wondering what that bloody boy is up to." Glancing up at Margot, he asked, "Are you certain you don't want to stay for dessert? I'd hate to ruin the evening by cutting it short."

"Let's order dessert to go," she suggested. "We can even bring something back for Bruce."

A broad smile warmed the man's face. "An excellent idea." He immediately signaled for the waiter.

While they waited for dessert and the check, Margot noted humorously, "Of the two of you, Bruce is by far the more entertaining one, anyway."

Alfred chuckled, already seeming more at ease. "Only because you stand a chance when you arm wrestle with him."

She laughed.

The ride home was quiet but comfortable, both of them a little relieved to be returning to the manor: Alfred because he was worried about Bruce, Margot because she wanted out of her shoes.

They were just pulling up the long driveway when Margot caught sight of a familiar dark figure climbing out through one of the study windows.

"Stop here," she told Alfred abruptly, hardly waiting for him to come to a full stop before she'd opened her door and was dashing across the lawn.

"Hey!" she called after the girl. "Stop!"

Cat stopped and whirled around, careful to remain well out of reach. "I was just leaving," she reassured Margot flippantly.

"No, that's not it," she replied, panting slightly. Running in an evening gown was difficult. "I just thought you might like some dessert. We brought it back with us."

The girl hesitated with a suspicious frown. "Is that why you're back so early?"

"Alfred couldn't stop worrying," Margot explained with a laugh. "You know how he is. Besides," she added, "you've helped Bruce so much, cake's the least we can offer."

Cat regarded her warily and was about to reply when Alfred approached, slowed by his cane.

"Everything all right?" the man inquired, resting a protective hand on Margot's shoulder. He caught sight of Cat and greeted her stiffly, "Hello, Miss Kyle. You were just leaving then, were you?"

Margot turned to Alfred and shushed him gently. "I invited her to stay for dessert."

"You what?" He looked sharply at her.

"Look," she whispered, "she'll come whether she's invited or not. At least if you're aware of her visits, you can keep an eye on her."

"I can hear you," Cat pointed out flatly.

"Well?" Margot asked the girl. "Are you staying or not?"

She hesitated. "What kind of cake?"

Margot smiled. "Chocolate, with a big glass of milk on the side."

Cat shrugged. "Fine."

"Come on then," Margot invited the girl. "We'll give you a ride."

She scoffed, "No, thanks."

"She's like a stray cat," Alfred noted as they watched the girl run back towards the manor, climbing through one of the windows.

Bruce and Cat were waiting for them by the time they entered the kitchen.

"Selina said you brought cake," Bruce greeted them hopefully.

"Yes, Master B. Now why don't you pull down the plates and help me set the table?"

They gathered around the table and watched patiently as Alfred portioned out dessert. Fortunately, they'd brought back three sizeable servings. It was easy to divide it between four people. As promised, Margot poured everyone, Cat included, a tall glass of milk.

The cake had come with whipped cream on the side, meant to dollop on top. Margot snagged an extra spoon of it and plopped the cream into her hand.

"What are you up to now?" inquired Alfred with raised brow.

Margot just smiled and looked at Bruce and Cat, who were both already halfway through their cake, despite barely being served. "Watch this," she said to them.

They watched as she hit the inside of her elbow with her clean hand, jerking her arm upward and sending the whipped cream soaring up into the air. She caught it neatly in her mouth and grinned.

"Nice," Bruce exclaimed softly, trying not to look too impressed.

"That's easy," retorted Cat, dipping her finger into the container of whipped cream, much to Alfred's chagrin. "I can do you one better."

She stood, flipped her whipped cream up into the air, did a fast spin on her toes, and caught the cream in her mouth.

"How did you do that?" Bruce asked, not bothering to moderate his awe this time. He dragged his cake fork through the whipped cream, leaving crumbs behind.

Margot watched with a smile as Cat showed the young man what to do. He tried it, and laughed sheepishly when it landed on his nose. Again, he tried and got it in his eye.

By then even Alfred was chuckling. "A suggestion, Master B," he interjected before the boy could scoop up more whipped cream.

"What?"

The man raised his own spoon of whipped cream and sent a blob of the stuff hurtling at Bruce's face.

"Alfred!" protested the boy with a laugh, wiping whipped cream from his forehead.

"Your reflexes are lacking," noted the man.

Bruce reached for the container, but Alfred pulled it out of reach, so the boy pinched off a bit of his cake and threw it instead. The butler hastily ducked.

"If you will permit me to say so, you throw like a girl, Master B."

"Hey!" Cat and Margot retorted simultaneously. Alfred was suddenly pelted by cake from both sides.

"Oi!"

"Ha!" Bruce shouted triumphantly when a piece of his cake hit Margot squarely in the jaw.

"Oh, no you don't!" she responded, lifting her half-empty glass of milk and drenching him with it.

The boy gasped and spluttered while Cat nearly seized up with laughter.

Her amusement was curtailed by an abrupt shriek when Alfred splattered a scoop of whipped cream over her face.

Mayhem ensued for the next few minutes, until most of the cake and milk was either being worn or dripping onto the floor in soggy globs.

"All right!" bellowed Alfred, catching Bruce by the collar as the young man careened around the table, trying to catch Cat. "That is quite enough," he added once things had quieted down. "Now that you've all had a laugh, it's time to start tidying up."

"I'm out," said Cat, dashing for the kitchen door.

"Oi!" Alfred barked, but she was already gone.

"Alfred," Bruce protested unhappily.

"It's getting late," said the man in a stern voice. "I'd say you have enough time to mop up this mess and then get on to bed."

The boy sighed heavily, but nodded dutifully. "Yes, sir."

Margot laughed softly to herself and started to clear the dishes off of the table, washing them while Bruce mopped the floor and Alfred wiped down the tabletop, the counters, the walls.

"How the hell did it get on the bloody ceiling?" he inquired in weary irritation.

Bruce and Margot both glanced up and noticed that, indeed, cake had somehow stuck to the ceiling.

Finally, the kitchen was returned to its previous state of cleanliness, and Alfred sent Bruce upstairs to wash up. Then he turned on Margot.

"You," he said, "are a bad influence. A disaster. Pandora's Box." But he came nearer as he spoke, pulling her into a long, sticky kiss.

"Thank you," she replied when they parted, reaching up to wipe a bit of whipped cream from his cheek. Glancing down, she added ruefully, "Sorry about the dress."

"Forget about the bloody dress," he growled. "I'm about to tear it right off of you."

There was something about that voice that gave her a strange feeling of exhilaration. "Catch me," she responded as she turned and fled.

Margot had never been so aware of how long it took to reach any of the bedrooms from the kitchen. Hers was the closest, and it was there that she ran, pursued by Alfred. Despite his injured leg, she suspected him of letting her narrowly evade his grasp until they were in her room, where he made good on his promise and tore her right out of her dress.

Afterwards, they both lay on their backs, stared quietly at the ceiling.

"I apologize that tonight didn't go according to plan," murmured Alfred.

Margot glanced at him and smiled. "It was perfect," she reassured him.

Alfred turned towards her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his front pressed against her back. "Still," he said, pressing his lips to her shoulder, "there was something I meant to ask you before we came home."

"What's that?" she inquired, her interest piqued.

He rested his chin in the crook of her neck and whispered softly in her ear, "I'm not sure I should ask now."

"You can't just tell me you have a question for me and then refuse to ask it," Margot protested. "That's the epitome of bad manners."

Alfred laughed quietly. "You're right," he agreed. "Give me a moment."

He rose and, to Margot's surprise, started to dress himself. She watched curiously as he finished buttoning his shirt, pulled his trousers up, and snapped his braces back on over his shoulders. He felt for something in his pocket, seemed satisfied, and came around to her side of the bed. By now, she was suspicious. She sat up, clenching the sheets around herself.

"What is it?" she asked.

Before she could finish the question, however, the man braced himself against the bedside table and carefully lowered himself onto his uninjured knee. For a moment, Margot wondered why he was kneeling in front of her, especially with his leg still obviously causing him a great deal of pain. But then a sudden though struck her, and before she had enough time to ruminate on it, Alfred's hand had slipped into his pocket and reemerged with something clasped in his palm.

A small, black box, inside which rested a simple band of white gold, crested by a single, shining diamond.

"Oh my God," she blurted out impulsively.

Encouraged by her obvious surprise, Alfred spoke. "I love you," he told her, his face creasing in a smile, "and I think I'd like to keep you. Will you do me the honor, Margaret Vallant?"

Still staring in silent shock, Margot simply watched as Alfred pulled the ring from its box, took her hand, and slowly slipped it onto her finger, just to give her a feel for it, should she accept. He was fairly certain she would, but seconds were ticking by, and she still hadn't spoken. He knew she'd heard him, and even if she hadn't, there was no doubt about what the ring meant, but he couldn't resist repeating the question once more, urging her to reply.

"Margot, will you marry me?"