“Go on emerging, Louis,” said Elizabeth, with a little nod of encouragement. Louis appeared to be plunged in thought. He frowned, made calculations upon his fingers, and finally inquired:
“How many times have I proposed to you, Lizabeth?”
Elizabeth looked at him with amusement.
“I really never counted. Do you want me to?”
“No. I think I’ve got it right. I think it must be eight times, because I know I began when I was twenty, and I don’t think I’ve missed a year since. This,” said Louis, getting on to his knees and coming nearer, “this will be number nine.”
“Oh, Louis, don’t,” said Elizabeth.
“And why not?”
“Because it really isn’t kind. Do you want me to go away to-morrow? If you propose to me, and I refuse you, every possible rule of propriety demands that I should immediately return to Market Harford. And I don’t want to.” Louis hesitated.
“How long are you staying?”
“Nice, hospitable young man. Agneta has asked me to stay for a fortnight.”