"Miss Luscombe, I ..."—he sighed deeply. "To tell you the truth, there's something—for a long time I've wanted to ask you."
He fixed on her intently his blue eyes, in which there was an ardent glare.
"Really, Mr. Rathbone? What can I do for you?"
"A great deal. The question is, what would you do for me?"
"Oh, that depends," she said, smiling, looking down, and enjoying herself.
"Not to put too fine a point upon it, Miss Luscombe——"; he stopped nervously.
"Miss Luscombe sounds so formal," she murmured.
"You wouldn't allow me to call you Flora, would you?"
He smiled, but she thought he looked disappointed. Perhaps he was a man who needed difficulties—opposition.
"Well ... I ... it depends," she said.