“Oh, you leave that to me. I have no other intention. But may I just see whose letter you were reading?”
“Oh, pray don't ask me.”
“I insist on knowing.”
“I will not tell you. There it is.” She gave it to him with a guilty air, and hid her face.
“Dear Zoe, suppose I were to repeat the offer I made here?”
“I advise you not,” said she, all in a flurry.
“Why?”
“Because. Because—I might say 'Yes.'”
“Well, then I'll take my chance once more. Zoe, will you try and love me?”
“Try? I believe I do love you, or nearly. I think of you very often.”