“Peter,” Miss Brown said, after he had made her comfortable, “when is it to be?”
“When is what to be?” he asked, puzzled.
“Our marriage,” she answered, looking at him for a moment in most bewildering fashion and then suddenly dropping her eyes.
Peter Ruff returned her gaze in blank amazement.
“What do you mean, Violet?” he exclaimed.
“Just what I say,” she answered, composedly. “When are we going to be married?”
Peter Ruff frowned.
“What nonsense!” he said. “We are not going to be married. You know that quite well.”
“Oh, no, I don’t!” she declared, smiling at him in a heavenly fashion. “At your request I have told Monsieur de Founcelles that we were engaged. Incidentally, I have refused two hundred and fifty thousand francs and, I believe, an admirer, for your sake. I declared that I was going to marry you, and I must keep my word.”
Peter Ruff began to feel giddy.