They went slowly on, wrapt in their solitude, with the calm of the sea before them. And he felt that he must say something.
“I could go on walking like that with you for ever,” said he, and his bantering tone somewhat concealed the meaning of his words.
She laughed; it was only fun after all.
“Then perhaps I might get tired.”
“Then I should carry you.”
“You couldn’t; my weight would crush you.”
“Do you think so little of my strength then? Come, I’ll just show you.”
“But, Georges, how dare you? I shall end by getting angry with you, at least if you don’t beg my pardon at once.” [[168]]
“How shall I set about that?” he asked, with mock humility.
She let him spin out a long rigmarole—