He reached across the little camp table and laid a hand upon hers. "Accept it as such," he said. "I'm not very good at saying things—like that."
"Let's not be serious," she begged. "Really, we scarcely know each other, after all."
"I have known you always," he replied. "I think we were amoebas together before the first Cambrian dawn."
"Now, you've compromised me," she cried, laughingly, "for I'm sure there were no chaperons way back there. I hope that you were a proper amoeba. You didn't kiss me, did you?"
"Unfortunately for me amoebas have no mouths," he said, "but I've been profiting by several millions of years of evolution just to remedy that defect."
"Let's be amoebas again," she suggested.
"No," he said, "for then I couldn't tell you that I—I—" He choked and flushed.
"Please! Please, don't tell me," she cried. "We're such ripping friends—don't spoil it."
"Would it spoil it?" he asked.
"I don't know. It might, I am afraid."