“He’s deep in love with you,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Marion’s eyes danced.
“Did he send you to tell me?”
William ignored the question.
“He’s deep in love with you and wants you to marry him.”
Marion dimpled.
“Why can’t he ask me then?”
“He’s shy,” said William earnestly, “he’s always shy when he’s in love. He’s always awful shy with the people what he’s in love with. But he wants most awful bad to marry you. Do marry him, please. Jus’ for kindness. I’m tryin’ to be kind. That’s why I’m here.”
“I see,” she said. “Are you sure he’s in love with me?”
“Deep in love. Writin’ potry an’ carryin’ on—not sleepin’ and not eatin’ an’ murmurin’ your name an’ puttin’ his hand on his heart an’ carvin’ your initials all over the house an’ sendin’ you flowers an’ things,” said William drawing freely on his imagination.