“Don’t you, though?”
“No, not the least bit.”
“Did he want to marry you?” asked Clifford. This idea occurred to him as being conversational, but he was still not interested.
“Oh, good gracious, no!” she exclaimed. “Of course not! rather not! Why, he doesn’t know me. And if he did he would think I was a little girl.”
“Well, so you are,” said Clifford.
“I know. Shall I tell you why I don’t want to marry Henry Ainley any more?”
“You can if you want to.” These matrimonial schemes seemed to bore him, but he thought he ought to endure them as a matter of fair play, as she had listened to his poetry.
“Well, I don’t care so much about marrying him now, because I should like to marry you!”
“Me! Oh, good Lord, I don’t want to be engaged, thanks.”