“Partly, perhaps, because it pleases me,” said she, in the same quiet tone.
He shook his head doubtingly; he had asked for an explanation, and neither of these supplied that want. “At all events, Lizzy, there is one thing you will admit,—if it is Fate, one can't help it,—eh?”
“If you mean by that that you must walk along here at my side, whether you will or not, just try, for experiment's sake, if you could not cross over the stream and leave me to go back alone.”
“Leave you to go back alone!” cried he, upon whom the last words were ever the most emphatic. “But why so, Lizzy; are you angry with me?—are you weary of me?”
“No, I 'm not angry with you,” said she, gently.
“Wearied, then—tired of me—bored?”
“Must I pay you compliments on your agreeability, Mr. Beecher?”
“There it is again,” broke he in, pettishly. “It was only yesterday you consented to call me Annesley, and you have gone back from it already,—forgotten it all!”
“No, I forget very seldom—unfortunately.” This last word was uttered to herself and for herself.
“You will call me Annesley, then?” asked he, eagerly.