"Little darling!" he says, clasping me tighter; but—oh, wonder of wonders!—he does not kiss me; does not even try to. What a deal of time we have wasted, to be sure. "But that is not all; there are the books."
"The books," I repeat; "what of them?"
"You have not picked them up yet."
"Did you suppose I was going to?" I ask, smiling at his joke which is excellent.
"I am sure you will."
I look at him quickly, fancying my ears have played me false but he is grave enough."
"Do you mean it?" I ask slowly.
"Most certainly."
"Then I never will," I say with spirit. "Oh! I did not think you were so mean, after I had said I was sorry too."
"What did I say to you after you had thrown the first one!" heasks.
"That I was not to do that again."
"And you threw another the next moment; so you were not only rude but disobedient."
"Am I your daughter?" I ask, turning round to look at him with a hovering smile.
"No, miss, but I am your lord and master, and you are bound to obey me."
"Don't be so sure of that," I say, putting my head on one side to look at my smart engagement ring of big opals and diamonds—the "jewels of calamity," as folks say. "If you are such a tyrant now, when we are only courting, whatever would you be if we were married?"
I don't feel a bit miserable now, or sorry or ashamed. He is talking to me; there is not a dreadful wall of silence built up between us.
