"Martita, are you still vexed with me?"
"If I am," she replied, between a frown and smile, "you had better make your escape, señor marqués, quick, before I dust you with the broomstick."
"But are you really vexed?"
"Certainly I am."
"Very well, then; I humbly ask your pardon," said Ricardo, getting down on his knees. "Give me all the blows you want, for I have no idea of moving."
"Come, get up, and don't be foolish! See how you are soiling your trowsers!"
"Though I should soil the very collar of my shirt, I wouldn't move until you pardoned me!"
"What a boor you are, Ricardo!"
"Many thanks!"
"Will you get up, child?"