While I was on my knees in front of a great wooden box, hopelessly trying to stow away books, a crisp tap came to the door, and without more ado my host—yes, he is that now—entered the room.
“Good Lord! what is all this,” he exclaimed, “what are you doing?”
“Packing,” I said, not getting up.
He made an impatient gesture.
“Nonsense!” he said, “there is no need to pack. I tell you I will not let you go. I am going to marry you and keep you here always.”
I sat down on the floor and began to laugh.
“You think so, do you?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t force me to marry you, you know—can you? I want to see the world, I don’t want any tiresome man bothering after me. If I ever do marry it will be because—oh, because——” and I stopped, and began fiddling with the cover of a book.