"Never!" said Dolly, with his hand again on his heart.
"Then let it be a little dream of your youth,—that you once met a pretty American girl who was foolish enough to refuse all that you would have given her."
"So pretty! So awfully pretty!" Thereupon she curtsied. "I have seen all the handsome women in England going for the last ten years, and there has not been one who has made me think that it would be worth my while to get off my perch for her."
"And now you would desert your perch for me!"
"I have already."
"But you can get up again. Let it be all a dream. I know men like to have had such dreams. And in order that the dream may be pleasant the last word between us shall be kind. Such admiration from such a one as you is an honour,—and I will reckon it among my honours. But it can be no more than a dream." Then she gave him her hand. "It shall be so;—shall it not?" Then she paused. "It must be so, Mr. Longstaff."
"Must it?"
"That and no more. Now I wish to go down. Will you come with me? It will be better. Don't you think it is going to rain?"
Dolly looked up at the clouds. "I wish it would with all my heart."
"I know you are not so ill-natured. It would spoil all."