“I haven’t danced with you yet,” the young man was saying. “Won’t you give me a waltz?”
“No,” she replied emphatically, first looking round to see that they were quite alone.
“Why not? Are all your waltzes taken?”
“No, not all.”
He did not think her serious, and was not chilled by her coolness.
“I’m warned, then. Many thanks,” he laughed.
She gave one of those tired “ughs,” like workmen lifting a heavy weight, and then began to talk all at once, full of her subject:
“Indeed I must warn you, sir. Your mother has talked to mamma. And mamma has no secrets from me. If she ever has any, I guess them. Very well, then, I’ll never, do you hear, never consent to marry you.”
“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I have not asked for your hand,” the young man retorted in astonishment.
“Your mother has been over the ground, as they say so prettily,” she resumed.