The exquisite creature laughed again. She seemed fairly bubbling over with mirth and gayety. Her blue and brilliant eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Oh, yes, I know it, thank you,” she said, nodding her bright head with a bird-like motion. “That’s the very reason I like him,” she continued. “His heart is set on some one else, and he isn’t always making me sick by talking love to me, as you have done, Tom Hinton, the whole three weeks since I came back from school.”
“Oh, come, you needn’t pretend you don’t like to be made love to. All girls do,” the young man answered, a little sulkily; but Thea fired up in a minute, and answered with childish petulance:
“That’s a story. I don’t, for one. I like to go with young men and have a good time, just as well as any other girl does, but if a fellow begins to talk love to me—faugh! it makes me sick!” disdainfully.
Tom Hinton was watching her doubtfully. He did not half believe in the indifference she professed. He believed it was more than half coquetry—girlish coquetry—that invited pursuit.
“See here, Thea,” he said, half wistfully, half with a man’s masterful air, “I don’t believe you mean half you say. If I did I should feel mighty bad, I tell you, for I’ve got my heart set on you, and I made up my mind as long as three years ago that I’d have you for my wife if I could get you.”
Thea stared. Her short upper lip curled in scorn.
“Tom Hinton, you must be crazy! The idea of picking me out, when I was only fourteen years old, for your wife! Well, I like your impudence!” she ejaculated.
“I am glad you like it. I thought you would,” he answered, falling into her mood of wicked banter. “Well, what do you say, my darling? Will you marry me?” tenderly.
“Not to save your life, Tom Hinton!” answered she, heartlessly, darting away.