Perfect, Orison thought, near tears. He's perfect. He'd sit astride that milk-white charger like a round-table knight, sturdy and lean and honest-eyed. Dink is perfect, she thought, except only that he's insane.
Dink tucked his notebook back into his vest-pocket. "If I were a foreigner," he asked, "would it make any difference to you?"
"Your nationality should concern me as little as my diet concerns you," Orison said.
"You said should," Dink pointed out. "That means that you are concerned with me. Therefore, I will formally invite you to marry me." He held up his hand as Orison began to speak. "I warn you, Orison, there are only two answers possible to my proposal. Only Yes or Some day."
"What if I said no?" Orison asked.
"I'd interpret it as Some day," he said, and smiled.
"You know nothing about me," Orison protested.
"But I do," Dink said. "I know you're good. I know that you've fallen half in love with me, and I entirely in love with you, in this half-day in April that we've known each other."
"No," Orison said, gripping tightly the edge of the table.
"That means, Some day," he said.