"But what of it?" Forbes broke out. "I love you. I'm not ashamed of my love or of you. I want you to be my wife."
The boyish manly sincerity of this convinced her and filled her eyes with a morning haze.
"You do? Really?" She moved on to the next place. He followed her.
"Of course I do. Will you?"
She continued slowly circling the table, with side trips to the sideboard, and he followed with a great ado of helping her. The two were making a slower job of it than either would have required alone.
"It's rather fun being proposed to while one is setting the table," Persis murmured. "We're getting terribly domestic already."
"You'd be so beautiful domesticated," Forbes urged.
"But so somebody else thinks—and we're on his grounds." And since it was characteristic of Persis to express a virtue in a sporting term, she shook her head. "We're not playing strictly according to Hoyle. It's not quite cricket."
"I know it," said Forbes. "And I—I dare you to come outside—off the place."
"All right. I will, the first chance I get."