She put her hand over his, her soft dimpled hand that thrilled and comforted him, and said in a beseeching tone, as if it was his to grant or not:
"Give me a month, Allin. I will not smile on anyone, since you think it so dangerous," with a touch of her old witchery.
"A month! As if you could not tell in a moment whether you loved or hated!"
"But I don't hate. I like you ever so much. I want to think it over. One must consider——"
"A week then. And after that we can be engaged for ever so long. It shall all be as you like then."
It proved very difficult to settle the point. He was so urgent, she so hesitating. The big old English clock in the hall struck ten, and gentlemen expected to keep good hours.
"Do not come in a whole week. No, do not kiss me again," and she held her dainty head up haughtily. "It was all very wrong. I should not have allowed such a thing until I was quite sure. Allin, perhaps I am a coquette."
"You may be anything if you are only mine."
"And then of course I should be steady and devoted, and—like Polly."
That was a maddening picture to hold out. But she would be a hundred times sweeter than Polly, than anyone's sister could possibly be, he thought as he went his way.