“Well, I should think it would.” Beatrice stopped the scarlet, and rethreaded the blue.
“More than thou wouldst like?”
“That would depend on circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” inquired the bashful yet persistent suitor.
“Who was to marry me, principally.”
“Suppose I was?”
“Thou canst not, till thou hast asked my father.”
There was a gleam in the dark eyes veiled with their long lashes. It might be either resentment or fun.
“May I ask him, Beatrice?”
“Did I not tell thee so at first?”