"Let me go! let me go!" she exclaimed. "Are you mad?"
Frank caught up his fiddle. At last Lizzie wrenched herself from
Mike.
"What do you mean? … Such nonsense!"
Laughing, Mike placed her in a chair, and uncovering a dish, said—
"What shall I give you this happy day?"
"What do you mean? I don't like being pulled about."
"You know what tune that is? That's the 'Wedding March.'"
"Who's going to be married? Not you."
"I don't know so much about that. At all events I am in love. The sensation is delicious—like an ice or a glass of Chartreuse. Real love—all the others were coarse passions—I feel it here, the genuine article. You would not believe that I could fall in love."
"Listen to me," said Lizzie. "You wouldn't talk like that if you were in love."