His tone, even more than his words, alarmed Patty. She was not used to such speeches as this, and she said, gravely: “Take me back to the house, please, Lord Ruthven.”
“Not just yet,” pleaded the nobleman. “Dear Miss Fairfield, listen to me a moment. Let me tell you something. Let me justify myself. I oughtn’t to talk to you like this, I know—but the fact is—oh, the fact is you’ve completely bowled me over.”
“What?” said Patty, not at all comprehending his meaning.
“Yes; I’m done for—and at first sight! And by an American! But it’s a fact. I adore you, Miss Fairfield—I’m so desperately in love with you that I can’t down it. Oh, I know I oughtn’t to be talking to you like this. I ought to see your father, and all that. And I will, as soon as I can, but—oh, I say, Patty, tell me you like me a little!”
It suddenly dawned on Patty that she was having a proposal! And from an English Earl! And all on account of her grown-up gown! The absurdity of it impressed her far more than the romantic side of it, and though a little frightened, she couldn’t help smiling at the Earl’s tragic tones.
“Nonsense, Lord Ruthven,” she said, though her cheeks were pink; “don’t talk like that. Please cut me that lovely cluster of roses, and then take me back to Lady Hamilton.”
The Earl drew a penknife from his pocket, and cut the flowers she asked for. Then he stood, trimming off the thorns, and looking down at her.
Patty had never looked so winsome. Her garb made her seem a grown woman, and yet the situation alarmed her, and her perplexed face was that of a troubled child.
“Tell me,” he repeated, “that you like me a little.”
“Of course I like you a little,” returned Patty, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Why shouldn’t I?”