"I wish you wouldn't," and Paul's face grew quite anxious. "You'll be certain to catch cold if you do, and I do so hate you to have a cold. I can see your feet are quite wet already." And then Paul smiled to himself, remembering how Edgar Ford had once said: "A man must be at a woman's feet before he knows when they are getting wet, and is ready to lay his cloak across the puddles to keep them dry."
"I shall walk in the damp till you leave off being disagreeable," persisted Isabel.
"Well, what is it that you want me to say?"
"I want you to say that you think I am a most reasonable woman—not that I only appear to be."
"I can't say that, for it wouldn't be true; but I don't mind saying that I think a reasonable woman the most tiresome and detestable being under heaven."
And then Isabel came off the grass.
"I wish you thought better of me!" she said, with a sigh.
Paul laughed. "I'm very glad I don't. It is quite enough for me as it is, thank you."
"I mean, I wish you said pretty things to me, like other men do."
"But I am nothing if not original."