“What nonsense we talk!” said Diana; “I propose we go in to tea.”
“You ought to propose,” said Shan’t to Mr. Pease; “you could if you liked—and you,” she said, nodding at Mr. Watkins; “couldn’t they, Diana?”
“They might.”
“Will you?” Shan’t said, turning to Mr. Pease; “do let him, Diana.”
Diana thought it better not. It was too hot—too delicious a day altogether to spoil.
Shan’t was very disappointed. She slipped her hand into that of the curate. “You do—” she whispered,—“it would be such fun. Then you could be married—wouldn’t you like it?”
Mr. Pease said he would like it very much—only people never did propose on Wednesdays.
“On what days, then?”
“Only on Saturday afternoons—at half-past three—on half-holidays—”
“Truthfully?”