"Oh, my God, no!" gasped Allan John.
"Men—do," mused the May Girl.
"Men do," conceded Allan John. With the sweat starting on his brow he jumped up and strode to the window. From the window he turned back slowly with a curious look of perplexity on his face. "Why—do you ask—that?" he said.
"Oh, I don't know!" said the May Girl. "I was just wondering," she sighed.
"Wondering what?" said Allan John.
"Wondering," mused the May Girl, "if you would ever want to marry me."
For a moment Allan John did not seem to understand—for a moment he gazed aghast at the May Girl's impassive face. "Why—child," he stammered.
"Why Honey-Dear," I intercepted wildly.
It was the strangest wooing I ever saw or dreamed of. The wooing by a person who didn't even know she was wooing—of a person who didn't even know he was being wooed.
"Well—all right—perhaps it doesn't matter," said the May Girl. "I was only thinking how sad it would be—if Allan John ever did need me for his wife and I was already married to somebody else."