"I—don't know what to say!" gasped Dorothy. "I couldn't marry anybody, I think."
His arms dropped from about her.
"Am I to understand, then," he asked, in a constrained voice, "that you refuse me?"
"Oh, I don't know!" cried Dorothy, melting into fresh, quick tears. "I—I—should want to ask somebody about it first before I said 'Yes.'"
He had quite believed that she would accept him on the spot the moment he proposed, and her failure to do this made him almost catch his breath in astonishment.
This uncertainty in the matter gave more zest to his ardor.
"You dislike me?" he questioned, wondering if that could possibly be.
"Oh, no, no! I like you. Won't you believe me?"
He stepped back and looked at her with a sarcastic smile—looked at the little figure leaning against the fountain, with one hand resting on the rim of it, the other held out imploringly toward him.
"Believe you? Why do you insist upon making me uncivil?" he replied. "I do not believe you! I dare say you fancy that you are telling the truth; but if another man were to come on the scene with a few thousands a year more, and a higher position in the social scale, you would have a very different answer for him at your tongue's end."