While I was on my knees in front of a great wooden box, hopelessly trying
to stow away books, a crisp tap came to the door, and without more ado my
host--yes, he is that now--entered the room.
"Good Lord! what is all this?" he exclaimed. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," I said, not getting up.
He made an impatient gesture.
"Nonsense!" he said. "There is no need to pack. I tell you I will not let
you go. I am going to marry you and keep you here always."
I sat down on the floor and began to laugh.
"You think so, do you?"
"Yes."
"You can't force me to marry you, you know--can you? I want to see the
world. I don't want any tiresome man bothering after me. If I ever do
marry, it will be because--oh, because--" and I stopped and began fiddling
with the cover of a book.
"What?"
"Mrs. Carruthers said it was so foolish--but I believe I should prefer to
marry some one I liked. Oh, I know you think that silly--" and I stopped
him as he was about to speak--"but of course, as it does not last, anyway,
it might be good for a little to begin like that--don't you think so?"
He looked round the room, and on through the wide-open double doors into
my dainty bedroom, where Veronique was still packing.
"You are very cosey here; it is absurd of you to leave it," he said.
I got up off the floor and went to the window and back.
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