“Oh, no,” said Betty, nervously plucking rose leaves. “You have been too often in love before, my good Dan.”
“But I was never in love with you before,” retorted Dan, decisively.
She shook her head, smiling. “And you are not in love with me now,” she replied, gravely. “You have found out that my hair is pretty, or that I can mix a pudding; but I do not often let down my hair, and I seldom cook, so you'll get over it, my friend, never fear.”
He flushed angrily. “And if I do not get over it?” he demanded.
“If you do not get over it?” repeated Betty, trembling. She turned away from him, strewing a handful of rose leaves upon the grass. “Then I shall think that you value neither my hair nor my housekeeping,” she added, lightly.
“If I swear that I love you, will you believe me, Betty?”
“Don't tempt my faith, Dan, it's too small.”
“Whether you believe it or not, I do love you,” he went on. “I may have been a fool now and then before I found it out, but you don't think that was falling in love, do you? I confess that I liked a pair of fine eyes or rosy cheeks, but I could laugh about it even while I thought it was love I felt. I can't laugh about being in love with you, Betty.”
“I thank you, sir,” replied Betty, saucily.
“When I saw you kneeling by the fire in free Levi's cabin, I knew that I loved you,” he said, hotly.