"What a poor memory you have! And yet mother says you have 'a good head.' Try to remember."
"I do remember your question."
"Then what is your answer?"
"Yes."
"Yes!" she mocked me. "That's not the way gentlemen declare their love." "What else shall I say?"
"What else! Well, say: 'I am ready to die for you. You are the sunshine of my life.'" "'You are the sunshine of my life,'" I echoed, with a smile that was a combination of mirth and resentment
"'You are my happiness, my soul. The world would be dark without you.'"
"I am no baby to parrot somebody else's words."
"Then you don't love me."
"Yes, I do. But I hate to be made fun of. Don't! Please don't!" I said it with a beseeching, passionate tremor in my voice, and all at once I clasped her violently to me and was about to kiss her. She put up her lips responsively, but suddenly she wrenched herself back