“And you don’t like Pradelle?”
“No, Harry; and I’m sorry you ever chose him for a companion.”
“Oh, come, dear, that’s prejudice and a bit of jealousy. Well, never mind about that now. I want to talk about ourselves.”
“Yes, Harry.”
“I want you to promise to be my little wife. I’m four-and-twenty, and you are nearly twenty, so it’s quite time to talk about it.”
Madelaine shook her head.
“Oh, come!” he said merrily, “no girl’s coyness; we are too old friends for that, and understand one another too well. Come, dear, when is it to be?”
She turned and looked in the handsome flushed face beside her, and then said in the most cool and matter-of-fact way:
“It is too soon to talk like that. Harry.”
“Too soon? Not a bit of it. You have told me that you will be my wife.”