“Well, if he kills me to-morrow” (cheerfully), “you can put it in your marriage settlements that your second husband is not to ride races.”
Without another word or look, Alice turned and left the room.
“Stay a moment,” said her husband, cutting off her indignant retreat across the hall and politely lighting her candle. “Listen to me, Alice. What will you give me if, after to-morrow, I promise never to ride another race?” looking at her with serious eyes.
“Will you promise me that” (eagerly) “really and truly?” accepting the candlestick. “Then it is to be a bargain, remember.”
“How can it be a bargain, as you call it, if the transaction is to be all on one side? If I promise this, what are you going to do for me?” he asked with questioning gaze.
“Promise, and I’ll tell you,” she said archly.
“Well,” speaking slowly and with grave expectation in his eyes, “I promise; and what then?”
“Then, if you like,” she replied, blushing furiously and holding her candle well between his face and hers, “then I’ll—I’ll give you a kiss.”
“A kiss!” he stammered, very much taken aback. “A kiss,” he repeated, reddening; for a second he hesitated, then said in a low voice, as he turned to take up his candle: “No, thank you, Alice.”
Alice seized the opportunity to make her escape, and when her husband had turned his head she was gone.