“What does that mean?”
“If you’ll sit down—no, within easy speaking distance,”—he said, as she sat on the log a few feet from him,—“I’ll explain. This is ‘strictly confidential,’ as they say, so I’ll really have to sit a little nearer.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she replied, “only it’s so warm.”
“I’ll fan you, and we’ll make this tête-à-tête quite swagger.”
“It’s nice—but don’t hit my nose with your hat. And I’m not going to fall off this log, Wallie.”
“I only put my arm there—to—lean on,” he replied. “Now about the fortune. If I were to ask you—of course, this is—ah, imaginary, you know. If I were to propose to you—”
“Propose what?”
“Well, that is, ask you to marry me—”
“Oh, but you won’t!”
“And you should say ‘Yes’—just quick, like that, before you could change your mind,—why, then we’d be engaged. Whew! but it is hot!” he exclaimed, fanning himself with his hat. “Well, then, I’d have a fortune in prospect.”