“Nothing could be as bad as living here,” said Randall reasonably. “I may be a vile beast, but at least I'm not a bore. By the way, are you going to marry me, or not?”
Stella looked for guidance at the top button of his waistcoat, and discovered that there was a smear of face powder on the lapel of his coat, and rubbed it away with one finger.
A hand came up and captured hers, and held it. “You are required to answer, you know,” said Randall.
She raised her eyes rather shyly, and blushed. “Randall, do you—truly want me to?” she asked in a very small voice.
“My dear sweet,” said Randall, and kissed her.
During the next ten minutes Stella made only two remarks, both of which were somewhat breathlessly delivered, and neither of which bore any evidence of intellect. Mr Randall Matthews said "Darling!" in answer to one, and "My little idiot!" in answer to the other. Miss Stella Matthews appeared to be perfectly satisfied with both these responses.
“I must have gone suddenly mad,” she said, a little while later. “I don't even admire your type. And how on earth am I to tell Mummy and Guy about it? They'll never believe I mean it!”
“After this morning's exhibition they are probably prepared for the worst,” replied Randall. “But I'll break the news for you, my pet.”
“Oh no, you won't!” said Stella with decision. “I can just picture that scene! You'll absolutely swear to me, darling-serpent-Randall, that you won't say one single thing to annoy either of them.”
“I can't,” said Randall. “I shall have to leave it to you.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. “I shall have to go, darling. If I don't we shall have that Superintendent arresting somebody—me in all probability.”