“Cecil,” she said, “I forbid you to make love to me until you have made me love you first. Of course I can’t say if I ever shall.” She looked about vaguely, her lips still smiling. “But, at least, we start fair; I don’t care a straw for any one else, and I’ve always liked you better than anybody in the world. To-day is the twenty-sixth of April. You may propose to me again on the twenty-sixth of May.”
He looked at her helplessly, his lips twitching. “You don’t care at all?” he asked. His voice still thickened when he was agitated.
“How can I, Cecil—in that way—when I haven’t laid eyes on you for ten years? You admit that I was only an abstraction to you before you saw my picture. You could not expect more of me, and I never even had a glimpse of a photograph. And women don’t take fire so easily as men.” She prayed he would not catch her up in his arms and kiss her. “I have not even been inspired to deliberation.” She gave a little laugh just tipped with malice. “What would you think, I wonder, if I accepted you on a moment’s notice.”
“You certainly wouldn’t have my excuse. What a guy I must be!” He stood up with a sudden diffidence which made him look like a big awkward boy, and Lee loved him the more.
“What time does the next train go to San Francisco?” he added. He had taken out his watch.
“Twelve-ten.”
“I have just time to catch it. I’ll be back when I’ve got some decent clothes. I suppose there are tailors in San Francisco—in Market Street?”
“Go and see Randolph, Crocker Building. He will take you to his.”
“Thanks. Good-bye.”
He shook her hand, avoiding her eyes, and strode away. When he reached the avenue, he plunged his hands into his pockets and began to run. Lee found time to laugh at his picturesque lack of self-consciousness before she turned and fled across the lane into the friendly solitude of the Yorba woods.