Anyway, I leant forward, and taking her
little hand, I said awkwardly:
"Marry me, Cynthia."
Unwittingly, I had hit upon a sovereign remedy for her tears.
She sat up at once, drew her hand away, and said, with some
asperity:
"Don't be silly!"
I was a little annoyed.
"I'm not being silly. I am asking you to do me the honour of
becoming my wife."
To my intense surprise, Cynthia burst out laughing, and called me
a "funny dear."
"It's perfectly sweet of you," she said, "but you know you don't
want to!"
"Yes, I do. I've got--"
"Never mind what you've got. You don't really want to--and I
don't either."
"Well, of course, that settles it," I said stiffly. "But I don't
see anything to laugh at. There's nothing funny about a
proposal."
"No, indeed," said Cynthia. "Somebody might accept you next
time. Good-bye, you've cheered me up very much."
And, with a final uncontrollable burst of merriment, she vanished
through the trees.
Thinking over the interview, it struck me as being profoundly
unsatisfactory.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223