"Oh," he said in a dull sort of wonder. No one had ever cut him short in just that way before. "What's up, Sara? Have I done anything out of the way?"
"You are very touchy, it seems to me."
"I'm sore about this confounded portrait monopoly."
"I'm sorry, Leslie. I suppose you will have to give in, however. We are three to one against you,—Hetty, Mr. Booth and I."
"I see," he said, rather blankly. Then he drew his chair closer. "See here, Sara, you know I'm terribly keen about her. I think about her, I dream about her, I—oh, well, here it is in a nutshell: I'm in love with her. Now do you understand?"
"I don't see how you could help being in love with her," she said calmly. "I believe it is a habit men have where she is concerned."
"You're not surprised?" he cried, himself surprised.
"Not in the least."
"I mean to ask her to marry me," he announced with finality. This was intended to bowl her over completely.
She looked at him for an instant, and then shook her head. "I'd like to be able to wish you good luck."