“Ah,” he breathed, “so that I might gather the roses.…”
(And above their heads, Lionel Ratcliffe: “Second stage: hand-clasps and protestations. Next will come kneeling work, and next the lips.—Wary now, for it goes rapidly!”)
“Pray you, pray you, Harry!” Diana chid, endeavouring gently to free her hand.
But the boy had slipped the leash of his ardour and was not to be hushed.
“O my sweet life, hear me, hear me!”
“I vow,” she said, half rebuking, “I never knew you in this mood!”
“Ah, I am bold,” he panted. “Must I not be bold indeed for that I dare to love you!” Saying which, he fell on both knees before her.
(“Is’t not time to stop them?” whispered Hare into Ratcliffe’s ear. “I could drop a little stone on sister Di’s head.”
“Soft,” interposed the other, with his contemptuous patience. “Let the children play a little while longer; ’twill be the finer sport to slip in ’twixt cup and lip!”)