“I did not think it of you, Teddy,” she said. “And it is one of the things of which I have never approved.”
“But why not?” asked Teddy, feebly.
“I thought you knew me better than to ask such a question.”
“I know you are an angel—oh, hang it! You do make me feel as if you were my mother.”
“Now, don’t be unreasonable, or I shall believe that you are a tyrant.”
“A tyrant? I? Horri—no, I wish I was. What a model of propriety you are! I never should have thought it—I mean—darling! you were always such a coquette, you know. Not that I ever thought so. You know I never did—oh, hang it all—but if I let you have your own way in this unreasonable—I mean this perfectly natural whim—you might at least promise to marry me in a month. And, indeed, I think that if you are an angel, I am a saint.”
“Well, on one condition.”
“Any! Any!”
“It must be an absolute secret until the wedding is over. I hate congratulations, and if we are going to have a sensation we might as well have a good concentrated one.”
“I agree with you, and I’ll never find fault with you again. You—”