“Might I dare to salute your lips, Anny of the Island?” he said softly.
Anny’s smile vanished and she drew back stiffly.
“Methinks you mistake me for some other wench, sir,” she said.
“Pardon, I prithee, fairest of prudes.” Dick’s tone was really penitent. “For but one moment I dreamed—shall I tell thee my dream?”
Anny looked at him in astonishment and in spite of her vexation drew a little nearer.
Dick interrupted her.
“All in one moment I dreamt I was dead and in hell, and, as I trod on the burning stones, a sudden ease fell upon me and I looked up and beheld the fairest face in all the world before me, the lips put up to meet mine—and I—well, mistress, then you woke me.”
Anny looked at him in amazement, wondering if the Spanish gentleman had suddenly become bewitched. Then she conjured up in her childish mind a picture which his words suggested to her of the fastidious little man hopping and dancing over hot paving bricks, and she began to laugh so heartily that she had to support herself by leaning against the door-post. Although this was hardly the way in which he wished his excuse to be taken, the Spaniard was pleased to have the girl so completely mollified and began to laugh himself with her.
“Oh, go along with ye,” said Anny at last, as she wiped away the tears of laughter with the back of her hand and held open the door for him.