“I was just thinking of you, Miss Norah.”
“It’s a pity you were not better employed,” I retorted, with a conspicuous display of both gratitude and good breeding.
“Thank you. Your pity is wasted. I could not be better employed.”
His unruffled air made me disposed to be ruder than ever; and I was just about to tell him that it was most unfortunate that he had no better occupation for his time, when off he started,—right in the middle of the Broad Walk, in front of all the people, without the slightest prelude.
“I could hardly be better employed than in thinking of the woman I wish to make my wife. And you are she.—Norah, will you be my wife?”
I was so startled,—genuinely startled, that I was thrown all in a fluster. That he had had some faint notion at the back of his head I had feared; I do not mind admitting it. But that it had anything like come to a head I had never imagined. That I do protest. Still less had I supposed that, under any circumstances, he would blurt it out in that public place, and in that extraordinary manner. It was entirely contrary to my most cherished notions. I could conceive of a declaration being led up to gradually—of its taking a final form in some delicate phrase, amidst suitable surroundings, at an appropriate moment.
But that, five seconds after encountering me in a tearing temper, amidst crowds of people, anyone should ask me, in a casual sort of manner, to be his wife, as if he were asking for the next dance—that I had not conceived of as possible. I felt, for the moment, as if I was breathless; looking at him as if to make sure whether I could believe the evidence of my eyes and ears.
“What did you say?”
“I asked you if you will be my wife. Will you, Norah?”
Not a word about love. Not a hint of any admiration he might feel; of regard which had been gradually growing up within his breast. Not a sign of perturbation. I had read about the awkward shyness, the painful self-consciousness, with which some men approached that most delicate of subjects. There were no symptoms of anything of the kind about Mr Benjamin Morgan. At least, he did not wear them on his exterior. His tone and manner could not have been more matter-of-fact, if he had been asking me whether I thought that it was going to rain. I was so taken aback, that I hardly knew how to treat him. I tried dignity.