“Dear Dick, then,” she whispered, colouring up, and glancing fondly at him, half ashamed though the while at her boldness.
“Of course I don’t love her. Haven’t I sworn a hundred times that I love only you, and that I want you to be my darling little wife?”
“Yes, yes,” said the girl, softly.
“Well, then, my darling, if you go and tell your father, the first thing he’ll do will be to go and tell my mother, and then there’ll be no end of a row.”
“But she loves you very much, Dick.”
“Worships me,” said Dick, complacently.
“Of course,” said the girl, softly; and her foolish little eyes seemed to say, “She couldn’t help it,” while she continued, “and she’d let you do as you like, Dick.”
“Well, but you see the devil of it is, Daisy, that I promised her I wouldn’t see you any more.”
“Why did you do that?” said the girl, sharply.
“To save rows—I hate a bother.”