Allan sighed, and yet he regarded her, in her loveliness and insouciance, with an expression just then of mingled amusement, annoyance, and regard in his dark hazel eyes.
With all the love that had been growing in his heart for Olive, he had been in no hurry to urge his suit, for, though impetuous by nature, he could be reserved and cautious enough at times; but now his heart flew to his head, and he said, bluntly,
'Dearest Olive, will you promise to love me—to marry me?'
'Why require any promise about the matter?' she replied, as all her wilfulness returned; 'has not my father promised for me—bequeathed me to you like a bale of goods, or condemned me to poverty!' she added, with a bitter laugh on her lips that curled with anger. 'I wonder that he did not order that I was to be locked up and fed on bread and water till I gave my consent to marry you, or that I was to be dropped into that oubliette which exists somewhere in Dundargue.'
'Cousin Olive,' said he, reproachfully, 'why this pride and doubt of my purpose? You are as cruel as you are beautiful.'
'This is worse than anything you have ever said to me,' she cried, with angry laughter still.
'Worse?'
'Yes, an attempt at gross straightforward compliment, as if I was a girl at a railway buffet.'
'Don't you like to be complimented?'
'By some people—yes,' was the petulant reply.