“Oh!” said Dorcas, starting up primly. “You must really allow me to withdraw.” To the young man's astonishment, she seized her parasol, and, with a youthful affectation of dignity, glided from the summer-house and was lost among the trees.
“Thy declaration to me was rather sudden,” said Jane quietly, in answer to his look of surprise, “and Dorcas is peculiarly sensitive and less like the 'world's people' than I am. And it was just a little cruel, considering that she has loved thee secretly all these years, followed thy fortunes in America with breathless eagerness, thrilled at thy narrow escapes, and wept at thy privations.”
“But she has never seen me before!” said the astounded Paul.
“And thee had never seen me before, and yet thee has dared to propose to me five minutes after thee arrived, and in her presence.”
“But, my dear girl!” expostulated Paul.
“Stand off!” she said, rapidly opening her parasol and interposing it between them. “Another step nearer—ay, even another word of endearment—and I shall be compelled—nay, forced,” she added in a lower voice, “to remove this parasol, lest it should be crushed and ruined!”
“I see,” he said gloomily, “you have been reading novels; but so have I, and the same ones! Nevertheless, I intended only to tell you that I hoped you would always find me a kind friend.”
She shut her parasol up with a snap. “And I only intended to tell thee that my heart was given to another.”
“You INTENDED—and now?”
“Is it the 'kind friend' who asks?”