“I never think of anything else but you ... you’re the only person whose mind I admire ... even if you don’t realise it you must see that you ought to.”
“Oh, Guy, what do you want? What is it all about?” she gasped helplessly.
“Well then, could you? You see, it seems to me so obvious and....”
“Marry you?”
“Yes.”
She saw herself established in St. James’s Street polishing his brasses, rub, rub, rub; polishing his verses perhaps too ... oh no, he didn’t like verses to be polished—roughening them, then, with emery-paper ... oh no, that polished too ... what was it, then, that roughened?
She began to giggle ... oh Lord, that had done it! Now he was furious—and with reason.
“... Your arrogance ... simply unbearable.... I don’t know what you think ... oh it’s damnable!” and he began to sob.
She took his hand and stroked it, murmuring: “Hush! old Guy ... I wasn’t laughing at you, it was just one of those sudden silly thoughts that have nothing to do with anything. Nothing seems real to-night. I’m really very very grateful.”