“I should like to,” said Alfred, still more yearningly.
“If you can think of a pet name that will not be derogatory to my dignity—” Regina began, when the weak and weedy Alfred insinuated an arm about her ample waist and drew her nearer to him.
Without some effort on the part of Regina Brown, I doubt if his intention could have been carried into effect, but Regina yielded herself to his tenderness with a shy coyness which was sufficiently marked to have merited even the pet name of Tiny.
“What would you like me to call you—Alfred?” she asked, with the faintest possible pause before the last word.
“Call me Alfie,” said he in manly and imperative tones.
“Dear Alfie!” said Regina.
“Darling!” said Alfie.
“You couldn’t call me darling as a name,” said Regina, coyly.
“I shall always call you darling,” he gurgled. “But I should like, as a name, to call you Queenie.”
“You shall call me Anna Maria Stubbs if you like,” said Regina, with a sudden surrender of her dignity.