He then as briefly as possible related the conversation he had just held with her father, and the strange proposition made him. No wonder he felt provoked at the merry laugh with which the little maiden closed his rueful communication.
“Confess now, Harry, you deem papa’s poem most execrable stuff!” she said, looking him archly in the face.
“Dear May, you know I—”
“Confess, confess Harry—no equivocation!” cried May, shaking her little finger.
“Well, May, I will be honest then—you know, dear one, I would not for worlds wound your feelings, but really I must confess I never listened to more senseless jargon!”
“That’s excellent—the more absurd the better,” said May, laughing; “and you will deliver it, Harry.”
“May!” exclaimed her lover reproachfully, “you surely cannot ask me to make myself ridiculous!”
“Hem—do you love me, Harry?”
“Can you doubt, it dearest May?”
“Then if you love me, as Hamlet says, ‘speak the speech I pray you.’ No doubt it will be hissed—so much the better—you will be laughed at—better still—”