“What?” Lee dropped the popper into the fire. Her head went back, her nostrils out. “Who said you were, I’d like to know? I didn’t.”
“Your mother asked me to marry you, and I said I would. So I’m going to.”
The American girl arose in her wrath, and stamped her foot.
“The very idea! Try it, will you? The idea, the idea of saying you’re going to marry a girl just ’cause you want to!—without asking her! I just won’t marry you—so there!”
Young Maundrell rose to his feet, plunged his hands into his pockets and regarded her with angry perplexity. He knew what he would have done had she been a boy; he would have thrashed her. But a girl was a deeper problem than earthquakes. He descended to diplomacy.
“Of course I’ll ask you if you prefer it that way.”
“You just bet your life I do.”
“Well—” He got very red and trembled all over. He threw his weight first on one foot and then on the other. His nails clawed at his trousers pockets.
“Well?”
“Oh—ah—that is—you can marry me, if you like— Oh, hang it, Lee! I don’t know how to propose. I feel like a rotter.”