"I never thought you'd notice—"
"And you seem more cocksure than ever—"
"Cocksure is an ugly word, Diana."
"So I think I liked you better as you were."
"Good!" said I, climbing back into the cart. "It remains for me to make you like me best—as I am."
"How?"
"By marrying you."
"But you don't—we ain't in love with each other or any such silliness," said she, flicking idly at the hedge with the whip.
"I'm not so sure, Diana. Indeed, I begin to think I do—love you in a way—or may do soon."
"Oh, do you?"