Dolly would have liked to make some jesting reply, but it was hard to be funny with those two eager, fiery eyes fixed so intently upon her own. She began to walk slowly towards the house, while he paced along beside her, still waiting for his answer.
“You must give me a little time, Mr. Mason,” she said at last. “‘Marry in haste,’ they say, ‘and repent at leisure.’”
“But you shall never have cause to repent.”
“I don’t know. One hears such things.”
“You shall be the happiest woman in England.”
“That sounds very nice. You are a poet, Mr. Mason, are you not?”
“I am a lover of poetry.”
“And poets are fond of flowers?”
“I am very fond of flowers.”
“Then perhaps you know something of these?” She took out the humble little sprig, and held it out to him with an arch questioning glance. He took it and pressed it to his lips.