"And was he going to hit you with it?" said Rachel, with all her eyes open.
"Well, he didn't hit me," said Luke; "but to look at him he seemed mad enough to do anything." Then he told her how at the present moment he was living at the inn, and how it became necessary, from this unfortunate quarrel, that he should go at once to London. "But under no circumstances would I have gone," said he, pressing her hand very closely, "without an answer from you."
"But you ought not to think of anything like that when you are in such trouble."
"Ought I not? Well, but I do, you see." Then he explained to her that part of his project consisted in his marrying her out of hand,—at once. He would go up to London for a week or two, and then, coming back, be married in the course of the next month.
"Oh, Mr. Rowan, that would be impossible."
"You must not call me Mr. Rowan, or I shall call you Miss Ray."
"But indeed it would be impossible."
"Why impossible?"
"Indeed it would. You can ask mamma;—or rather, you had better give over thinking of it. I haven't had time yet even to make up my mind what you are like."
"But you say that you love me."