“I’ve been wanting to do it this twelvemonth,” said he simply. “And I shall want to do it again. Nan, dear, don’t you know how much I love you? Don’t you know without my telling you? Don’t you?”
The fervent question chased away her trouble and summoned surprise to fill its place. A moment she stared at him, and her glance hardened. She began to show signs of recovery.
“The declaration should have preceded the ... the ... affront.”
“Affront!” he cried, in protest.
“What else? Isn’t it an affront to kiss a maid without a by-your-leave? If you were a man, I shouldn’t forgive you. I couldn’t. But as you’re just a boy”—her tone soared to disdainful heights—“you shall be forgiven on a promise that the offence is not to be repeated.”
“But I love you, Nan! I’ve said so,” he expostulated.
“You’re too precocious, young Randal. It comes, I suppose, of being given a sword to play with. I shall have to speak to your father about it. You need manners more than a sword at present.”
The minx was skilled in the art of punishing. But the lad refused to be put out of countenance.
“Nan, dear, I am asking you to marry me.”
She jumped at that. Her eyes dilated. “Lord!” she said. “What condescension! But d’you think I want a child tied to my apron-strings?”