“I am a fool,” I admitted. “I am aware of only one thing: I want you. I want you.”
“You are a dear, but you are very, very stupid,” she said, and as she spoke she caught my hand and pressed the palm of it against her cheek. “What do you feel?” she asked.
“Hot cheeks—cheeks most hot.”
“I am blushing for what your stupidity compels me to say,” she explained. “You have already said that such things as licences and ministers obtain in Valparaiso . . . and . . . and, well . . . ”
“You mean . . . ?” I stammered.
“Just that,” she confirmed.
“The honeymoon shall be on the Elsinore from Valparaiso all the way to Seattle?” I rattled on.
“The many thousands of miles, the weary, weary months,” she teased in my own intonations, until I stifled her teasing with my lips.