“How can you say such bitter things? It shows how very little you care—at least, that is not what I mean at all.”
“Then, if you please, what is it that you do mean?”
“I mean that here is the key of the gate. And my father will expect you at seven o’clock.”
“But surely you will have a look at my trout? They cannot bite, if I can.”
He laid his fishing-creel down on the grass, and Mabel stooped over it to hide her eyes; which (in spite of all pride and prudence) were not exactly as she could have wished. But they happened to be exactly as Hilary wished, and catching a glimpse of them unawares, he lost all ideas except of them; and basely compelled them to look at him.
“Now, Mabel Lovejoy,” he said, slowly, and with some dread of his own voice; “can you look me in the face, and tell me you do not care twopence for me?”
“I am not in the habit of being rude,” she answered, with a sly glance from under her hat; “that I leave for other people.”
“Well, do you like me, or do you not?”
“You do ask the most extraordinary questions. We are bound to like our visitors.”
“I will ask a still more extraordinary question. Do you love me, Mabel?”