“Yes, a little golden heart with a ruby clasp.”
“Oh dear! And to think that I've lost my own in the self-same spot”
“Yours! Why, had you a locket too?”
“No, my angel!” cried he, passionately, as he clasped her hand, and fell on his knee before her, “but my heart,—a heart that lies under your feet this minute! There, don't turn away,—don't! May I never, if I know what's come over me these two months back! Night or day, it is the one image is always before me,—one voice always in my ears.”
“How tiresome that must be!” said she, laughing merrily. “There, pray let go my hand; this is only folly, and not in very good taste, either.”
“Folly, you call it? Love is madness, if you like. Out of this spot I 'll never stir till I know my fate. Say the word, and I'm the happiest man or the most abject creature—You 're laughing again,—I wonder how you can be so cruel!”
“Really, sir, if I regard your conduct as only absurd, it is a favorable view of it,” said she, angrily.
“Do, darling of my soul! light of my eyes! loadstar of my whole destiny!—do take a favorable view of it,” said he, catching at her last words.
“I have certainly given you no pretence to make me ridiculous, sir,” said she, indignantly.
“Ridiculous! ridiculous!” cried he, in utter amazement. “Sure it's my hand I 'm offering you. What were you thinking of?”