"But do you love me?" Then there was a pause, as they stood leaning upon a gateway. "Come, Polly; tell a fellow. Do you love me?"
"I don't know." Then there was another pause; but he was in a seventh heaven, with his arm round her waist. "I suppose I do; a little," whispered Polly.
"But better than anybody else?"
"You don't think I mean to have two lovers;—do you?"
"And I am to be your lover?"
"There's father, you know. I'm not going to be anybody's wife because he tells me; but I wouldn't like to vex him, if we could help it."
"But you'll never belong to any one else?"
"Never," said she solemnly.
"Then I've said what I've got to say, and I'm the happiest man in all the world, and you may go to church now if you like." But his arm was still tight round her waist.
"It's too late," said Polly, in a melancholy tone,—"and it's all your doing."