"Probably that's the reason," returned the girl lightly. "Some one must help strike an average."
She did not say it easily; for she was obliged to swallow between sentences; but she said it pretty well, and applauded herself.
"You see I love you, Violet," he went on, as simply as the most non-temperamental swain could have spoken.
She shrank into her corner, and when he tried to take her hands she crossed them quickly on her breast.
"Which mood is this?" she asked, a tumultuous beating under the crossed hands.
"You don't believe me," said Edgar quietly. "It's true, Violet. I want you to marry me. You've made me believe once or twice—and yet the next moment I always feel your utter indifference. I'm afraid you're a flirt."
"I know you are!" responded the girl, her fingers whitening against her fluttering heart. "I'm afraid of you, Edgar."
Happiness leaped into his eyes and he gathered her hands into his in spite of her.
"Have you ever seen 'The Concert'?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh, that's what you mean!" exclaimed Edgar triumphantly.