"Time stands still for you, my dear," he bowed, with a gay imitation of the grand manner.
"Thank you." Her smile mocked him. She had flirted a good deal with this young man and understood him very well. He had no intention whatever of giving up the gay hazards of life for any adventure so enduring as matrimony. Moreover, he knew she knew it. "But let's stick to the subject. While you're proposing—"
"How you help a fellow along!" he laughed. "Am I proposing?"
"Of course you are. But I haven't found out yet whether it's for yourself or Mr. Morse."
"A good suggestion—novel, too. For us both, let's say. You take your choice." He flung out a hand in a gay debonair gesture.
"You've told his merits, but I don't think I ever heard yours mentioned," she countered. "If you'd recite them, please."
"It's a subject I can do only slight justice." He bowed again.
"Sergeant Beresford, at your service, of the North-West Mounted."
"Sergeant! Since when?"
"Since yesterday. Promoted for meritorious conduct in the line of duty. My pay is increased to one dollar and a quarter a day. In case happily your choice falls on me, don't squander it on silks and satins, on trips to Paris and London—"
"If I choose you, it won't be for your wealth," she assured him.