"I should like you better if you weren't so officious," she said.
"But you have no one else to look after you," objected Lord Ronald.
"Well, in any case, it isn't your business," she threw back, almost inclined to laugh at his audacity.
"It would be if you married me," he pointed out, as patiently as if he were dealing with a fractious child.
"If I——"
She wheeled abruptly, amazed out of her disdain. It was the most prosaic proposal she had ever had.
"If you married me," he repeated, keeping his eyes upon her. "You admit that I am harmless, so you would have nothing to fear from me. And as a watch-dog, I think you would find me useful—and quite easy to manage," he added, with his serene smile.
Beryl was staring at him in wide astonishment. Was the man mad to approach her thus?
"No," he said. "I am quite sane; eccentric perhaps, but—as you are kind enough to observe—quite harmless. I never proposed to any woman before in my life, or so much as wanted to, so that must be my excuse for doing it badly. Really, you know, Mrs. Denvers, you might do worse than marry me. You might indeed."
But at that her indignation broke bounds. If he were not mad, it made him the more intolerable. Did he fancy himself so desirable, then, that he had merely to fling her the handkerchief—to find her at his feet? His impertinence transcended belief. But she would pay him back in his own coin. He should never again imagine himself irresistible.