“Do I what?”
“Give your consent? There, dall it, I am a plain-spoken man, and am but a poor hand at pleading my own cause. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” inquired the little coquette.
“Why, of course you do. Will you be mine?”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
He drew her towards him with his arm round her waist, and his heart going, as he afterwards said, “nineteen to the dozen,” he embraced her passionately.
“Your answer, darling. Give me an answer.”
“You are in such a mighty hurry, John. You don’t give one time for reflection.”
“But you have reflected long ago.”