Malcolm made love to me after dinner. We were left to talk when the others sat down to bridge in the little drawing-room.
“I missed you so terribly, Miss Travers,” he said, priggishly, “when you left us, that I realized I was extremely attracted by you.”
“No, you don’t say so!” I said, innocently. “Could one believe a thing like that.”
“Yes,” he said, earnestly. “You may indeed believe it.”
“Do not say it so suddenly, then,” I said, turning my head away, so that he could not see how I was laughing. “You see, to a red-haired person like me these compliments go to my head.”
“Oh, I do not want to flurry you,” he said, affably. “I know I have been a good deal sought after—perhaps on account of my possessions” (this with arrogant modesty), “but I am willing to lay everything at your feet if you will marry me.”
“Everything!” I asked.
“Yes, everything.”
“You are too good, Mr. Montgomerie—but what would your mother say?”
He looked uneasy, and slightly unnerved.