Then she had strange ideas.
“When midnight strikes,” she said, “you must think of me.”
And if he confessed that he had not thought of her, there were floods of reproaches that always ended with the eternal question—
“Do you love me?”
“Why, of course I love you,” he answered.
“A great deal?”
“Certainly!”
“You haven’t loved any others?”
“Did you think you’d got a virgin?” he exclaimed laughing.
Emma cried, and he tried to console her, adorning his protestations with puns.