"I mean it. But, Tita,"—he takes one of her hands and holds it between his own, and regards her with some anxiety—"have you thought it all out? I have told you the truth, you know. I have told you that I am not in love with you."
"In love with me! I'm sure I hope not," says Tita with a disgusted air. "Don't put yourself out about that. I should hate you if you were in love with me. Fancy a person following me about always, and saying silly things to me, and perhaps wanting to kiss me! You," anxiously looking at him with searching eyes, "you wouldn't want to kiss me, would you?"
She looks so pretty as she puts this startling question, that Rylton loses himself a little.
"I don't know."
"Then you had better know, and at once," says Miss Bolton, with decision.
The whole affair seems to be trembling in the balance. A sense of amusement has most unfortunately seized on Rylton, and is shaking him to his very heart's core. To marry a girl who even objected to a kiss! It sounds like a French play. He subdues his untimely mirth by an effort, and says gravely, "How can I promise you that I shall never want to kiss you? I may grow very fond of you in time, and you—but, of course, that is far more improbable—may grow fond of me."
"Even so," begins she hotly. She pauses, however, as if some thought had struck her. "Well, let it stay so," says she. "If ever I do grow to like you as much as you fancy, why, then you may kiss me—sometimes."
"That's a bargain," says he.
Again he suppresses a desire to laugh. It seems to him that she is intensely interesting in some way.
"In the meantime," says he, with quite a polite air, "may I not kiss you now?"