"Oh—why—I do—and I do not."
"I warrant," quoth he, softly, "there would be no 'I do not,' if the right gentleman spoke them." The captain's tone seemed lightly gay and bantering; but, though she knew it not, his throat was dry, and he was trembling from head to foot like a shivering terrier.
"I am sure I know not," she answered, embarrassedly, but still smiling.
"Put it to the test," he whispered, huskily. "Give him the occasion to speak—one that adores you—hear him utter your praises—hear him vow his devotion—give him the occasion."
"Methinks—you take the occasion now," said she, in a voice scarce above the rustle of the air among the leaves.
"Nay—heaven's light!—I mean not myself!" he said, dismayed.
"Why, wha—? What then? What mean you?"
Her smile had fled in a breath, and in its place was a look of suddenly awakened horror that smote him like a whip's blow across the eyes.
"Oh, nothing," he stammered. "I mean—'tis not myself that's worthy to praise you. I know not—I am out of my wits—forget—"