“Were? Ay, you’re right, Hal Grame,” she said proudly. “Marry! I would not wed you now if you and I were the last to be on earth.”
Hal blinked and let go his grip on her wrist; then a smile broke over his boyish features, and he said half laughing:
“Lord, you’re daft, Anny, you know you love me. Come, say I lie, you can’t!”
Anny’s black brows came down on her white forehead until they made one straight line across her brow and her big green eyes blazed.
“I say you lie, Hal Grame,” she said very quietly and distinctly. “I say you lie and that you are an over-weening puppy and think yourself too fine.”
Hal was stung into replying sharply:
“Lord preserve you, silly wench, who do you think would marry you, a little serving slut, without a portion, or even a father, for that matter?”
Anny tossed her head and looked at him disdainfully.
“I could be wed to-morrow to a finer man than you,” she said, forgetting prudence in her irritation.
Hal laughed savagely.