For here a wild jolt from the motor-'bus had nearly pitched me into his arms. The top of the 'bus is absolutely the worst place in the world to listen to a proposal, unless you're absolutely certain of accepting the young man. Even so it must have its drawbacks.
"I'm sure," I said, "that I should be bad-tempered, horrid to live with——"
"Miss Lovelace——"
"And here's the Cecil. I must get off here," I said with some relief. "Good-night. No! Please don't get off with me. I'd so much rather you didn't."
"May I see you again, then? Soon?" he persisted, standing up on that horrible 'bus that rocked like a boat at anchor in a rough sea. "To-morrow?"
"Yes—no, not to-morrow——"
"Yes, to-morrow. I have so much to say to you. I must call. I'll write——"
"Good-night!" I called back ruefully.
And feeling aghast and amused and a little elated all at once, Miss Million's maid, who had just had an offer of marriage from the manager of Miss Million's bank, entered Miss Million's hotel, and went upstairs to Miss Million's rooms to wait until her mistress came back from the Thousand and One.
When I had taken off my wet outdoor things and reassumed my cap and apron, I sat down on Miss Million's plump pink couch, stuffed one downy cushion into the curve of my back, another into the nape of my neck, put my slippered feet up on a pouffe, and prepared to wait up for her, dozing, perhaps....