Alice slipped her hand into his. "And I will always act as you bid me and obey you in everything, if only you'll promise never, never to be cross with me. I think it would kill me if ever you were vexed with me; so you won't be, will you?"
"I?—vexed with you? My dearest, the thing is unthinkable."
"Then I don't care what happens," said Alice contentedly. "But you were once awfully cross with me, you know."
"My child, what on earth do you mean?"
"Oh! it was one time—ages and ages ago—when you never would speak to me if you could help it, and it used to make me so miserable. You really were cross then." And Alice's disengaged hand wandered idly over the keys.
"Not cross, dear; only very, very unhappy, because I loved you and I did not think you would ever love me."
Alice raised her pretty eyebrows. "Well, that was hardly the way to make me love you, was it? It wasn't likely that I should fall in love with a man in a temper—at least I mean to say with a man who looked as if he were in a temper."
"Do you think you would have loved me then, Alice, if you had known that all my outside sternness was merely the mask I put on to hide my love for you? Tell me, dear, I want to know."
Alice thought for a moment. "I expect I should, for I have always adored the shape of your nose."
Edgar laughed, and Alice went on: "I used to be afraid that I bored you because I wasn't clever; but now you don't mind my not being clever a bit, do you?"