"Are you?"
"Yes. You mustn't think I'm not and that you've got to make anything up to me, because that would make me feel as if I'd—there's a word for it, I know, but I can't think of it. It's what horrid girls do to men when they're trying to get hold of them—as if I'd comp—comprised—"
"D'you mean compromised?"
"Yes."
"I make you feel as if you'd compromised me?"
"That's right."
"Well, I am jiggered! If that doesn't about take the biscuit! Winky, you're a blessing, you're a treasure, you're a treat; I could live for a fortnight on the things you find to say."
He would have drawn her to him, but she held herself rigid.
"Well, but—I haven't—have I?"
"If you mean, have you made me want to marry you, you have. Haven't I told you I've thought of nothing else for more than two years?"