"No!" says she. It is the lightest monosyllable, but fraught with much energy. She tilts the shoulder nearest to him, and peeps at him over it, with a half-merry little air.
She sets Rylton's mind at work. Is she only a silly charming child, or an embryo flirt of the first water? Whatever she is, at all events, she is very new, very fresh—an innovation! He continues to look at her.
"Really no?" questions he.
She nods her head.
"And yet you have said 'Yes' to everything else?"
She nods her head again. She nods it even twice.
"Yes, I shall marry you," says she.
"I may tell my mother?"
Miss Bolton sits up. A little troubled expression grows within her eyes.
"Oh! must you?" cried she. "She will be mad. She won't let you marry me—I know she won't. She—hates me."