"Well, not the word. Look here, Helen. Of course I know that you are only a teacher in a school, and have not a shilling to bless yourself with, and never will have—worse luck; but you are a thundering pretty girl, and I am very spoony on you, so here goes. Will you marry me?"
"I?" she ejaculated with a gasp of incredulity.
"Yes; you to be sure! Who else?" approaching his arm affectionately to her waist. But a very sharp rap on the knuckles from the stick she carried in her hand caused him to change his mind.
"Come now, you don't mean that, I know?"
"Yes, indeed I do! please keep to your own side of the road."
"And is it to be yes? Am I not speaking to the future Mrs. Sheridan?" he inquired with an air of jaunty confidence.
"No, indeed you are not!"
"Oh, I say! you are not in earnest!" in a bantering tone. "Think it over. I'm not a bad sort of fellow. I've a snug little place. I'm old Malachi's heir. I'm quite a catch, I can tell you—you might do worse."
"Impossible!" she exclaimed scornfully.
"Do you mean to tell me you are serious; do you mean me to take no in earnest? For, mind you, I'll not ask you again," speaking with angry vehemence.