"I—I—Do you mean it? Oh!" She was out of the hammock now and poised tremblingly before him, like a bird. "Honestly? You're not fooling? Norvin, you dear duck!" She clapped her hands together gleefully and began to dance up and down. "I-I'm going to scream."
"Remember your promise."
"Oh, but Queen! Queen! Why I'm dreaming, I must scream."
"I gather from these rapt incoherences that you'd like it."
"Like it! You silly! Like it? Haven't I lived for it? Haven't I dreamed about it ever since T was a baby? Wouldn't any girl give her eyes to be queen?" She seemed upon the verge of kissing him, perhaps upon the nose, but changed her mind and went dancing around his chair like some moon-mad sprite. He seized her, barely in time to prevent her from crying the news aloud to Bernie, explaining hastily that she must breathe no word to any one for the time being and must first win her brother's consent. It was very difficult to impress her with the fact that the Carnival was still a long way off and that Bernie was yet to be reckoned with.
"As if there could be any question of my accepting," she chattered. "Dear, dear! Why shouldn't I? And it was lovely of you to arrange it for me, too. Oh, I know you did, so you needn't deny it. I hope you're to be Rex. Wouldn't that be splendid—but of course you wouldn't tell me."
"I can tell you this much, that I am not to be King. Now I have already spoken to Bernie—"
"The wretch! He never breathed a word of it."
"He's afraid he can't afford it."
"Oh, la, la! He'll have to. I'll die if he refuses—just die. You know
I will."