"I believe I am considered witty," I replied, hardly knowing what I said: I tell you, that sort of thing makes a man confoundedly nervous.
Then she began laughing, and I thought she, would never stop. I did not feel like laughing, so I just sat and looked at her.
"Oh my! oh my!" she gasped, trying to control herself, "why didn't you say No? You never intended to ask me at all. It is the funniest thing I ever heard of. Oh my! I shall die of laughing. I think you will 'end badly' if you go on so," she said, quoting what I had repeated. "What induced you to act in this manner?"
I saw that she had found me out and thought I was a fool. This provoked me, and I replied, rather warmly, pretending I did not know what she meant, "It appears to me an odd manner you have of receiving an offer, Miss Blanche. I think you should at least treat me with politeness."
She became serious in a moment when she saw I was hurt, and did not lose her good-temper at my rude speech, but said pleasantly, "You are not fond of being teased, Mr. Highrank. Never mind: I don't intend to take advantage of your blunder, nor keep you long in suspense. Go "—and she smiled as if she really could not help it—"go, and be sensible in future."
"You mean that you won't marry me?" I asked.
"Don't talk of that: let us pretend we were in fun—as of course we were—and let me thank you for a very agreeable afternoon."
I declare she looked so bewitching as she spoke that I wished she had thought me in earnest and accepted me. It was real good in her, giving a fellow a second chance when she might have snapped him up directly. I think girls ought to give a man two chances, but they seldom do. Many a poor soul repents the moment the words are spoken, but he can't help himself. Generally, when 'tis done 'tis done.
She made a motion to rise: I could not permit her to go without an explanation. She had been so generous, and she was so beautiful, that I began to desire quite earnestly that she would be my wife, and that we could settle down at The Beauties together: she would like the sorrel at any rate. Perhaps Fortune had sent her to me this very afternoon, and I ought not to let the opportunity slip, but ask her seriously before she left. Of course she would accept me if she knew I was in earnest. She was too delicate to take advantage of a mistake—mighty few girls so particular. The more I entertained the idea, the more I liked it, so I resolved to speak. I fancied that she was a little cool in her manner: possibly she thought I ought not have jested on such a subject, but I would make it all right now. I was sitting on a stone a little lower than she. I leaned forward and placed my arm on the rock and round her—just near enough to keep her there, you know. Then I spoke: "I want to beg your pardon, Miss Blanche. You are offended, but I did not mean to annoy you: I esteem you too highly for that."
"I am not at all offended, not at all," she said heartily, at the same time trying to rise, but as I was leaning on her dress she could not. "I must beg you to move: I am going home," she added, looking round: then seeing where my arm was, her tone became slightly angry: "Will you allow me to rise?"
"Not until you listen to me. Do not be displeased when I tell you the truth. I was jesting, or at least did not think what I was asking, a moment ago, but now I am in real earnest. I want you to marry me—truly I do. I love you, and am willing to do everything you can desire. See, I will kneel if you like devotion;" and I fell on my knees before her, catching her little white hands and kissing them. "Won't you love me?" I felt as I looked into her sweet face that I could do anything in the world for her.
"A little less devotion and more respect would suit me better, Mr. Highrank. Will you stop this farce and release my dress? I shall certainly be offended if you do not rise instantly."
"I will obey you if you will give me one kind word."
"I have none for you," she said frigidly.
"You think I have been too hasty—that I am not really in love with you; but I am, I assure you. I fall, in love very quickly—indeed I do. I have often been in love with a girl the first time I saw her, and I have known you ever so long. Won't you believe me, Blanche?"
"I believe you are treating me in a most ungentlemanly manner in keeping me here when I don't wish to stay."
"I can't let you go," I said as I rose, but standing so that she could not pass, "till you are convinced that I love you, for I do, and shall always. Surely I have a right to an answer."
"I thought you were good-natured"—now she spoke reproachfully—"and you are teasing me in the most disagreeable way. Please let me pass."
"Do you think me so base as to tease you on such a subject? What shall I do to persuade you that I am sincere."
"Let me go home."
"May I go with you?"
"I would rather you did not come, please."
"Why are you so unkind?" I asked, taking her hand. "Tell me you love me, and let us be happy."
"But I don't love you," she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and the tears coming into her eyes. "I don't love you, and I want to go home." She turned from me to hide her face, looking about at the same time for some way of escape.
"But you will love me by to-morrow," I replied soothingly. "I may ask you again, may I not?" and then she looked so pitiful, with the tears rolling from her frightened eyes and her hand trembling in mine, that I thought I would put my arm around her—to comfort her, you know. "Poor child!" I said, drawing her to me as they do in the theatre, "you don't know your own heart: rest here."
I wish you had seen her!—I wish you had seen her! She drew herself from me quivering with indignation, her eyes% sparkled, and she was in such a rage that she could hardly speak, but after an effort she broke forth in a torrent of words: "I have an utter contempt for you, and I will bear this no longer. You think you are irresistible—that all the girls are in love with you—that your wealth buys you impunity—that your position will excuse your rudeness—and that you can dispense with politeness because your name is Highrank! I would like to box your ears. I despise you and your behavior so thoroughly that were you a hundred times in earnest in asking me to marry you, I would refuse you a hundred times!" Then she rushed past me, and I was so astonished that I did not try to prevent her.
The idea of her refusing me, and in such a manner! No wonder if she should end badly. Mrs. Stunner was right. However, I am glad she did refuse me, for she must certainly be a little wrong in her head. Wonder if her ancestors were insane or anything. She was deuced handsome when she got angry. Never saw a woman angry at me before: something very queer about her. Had a contempt for me, too! Why should she have that? I don't understand it. Said I was conceited—that I thought all the girls would marry me. And so they would, all but herself; and that shows there is something odd about her—not at all like any other woman. Deuced glad she did not take me at my word. Queerest thing! She cried when I put my arm around her: never knew a woman would cry at that before. Little Eva wouldn't. I believe I like tender women best—at one time I thought they were not nice. What a fool I was! What should I do with a wife I could not kiss? I wonder if Blanche will speak to me again? Maybe all this was a dodge, women have so many; but she looked in earnest. I might have frightened her by being so sudden, but why the deuce should women be frightened at proposals, when they pass their lives in trying to get them? So Mrs. Stunner said. Poor birdie!, what a soft hand she has! Maybe some women are modest: I will ask Hardcash about it. She may not have known what she was saying—agitated, and all that sort of thing. I will see how she acts to-night—need not ask her again if she is not civil. Eva will comfort me if I need it. What a sweet voice she had till she got angry! but she was very odd.
I strolled home to the hotel, musing over the adventure of the afternoon. Blanche was a girl who might be included in the star type that I had once sought for: wanted to be worshiped and play the superior. Now that I had found her I was surprised how little I liked that style. Just as if a good-looking fellow like me was a bear or a wild Indian, to be afraid of! I don't see that she would have been any the worse for it if I had kissed her; and wasn't I as respectful as her nearest relation? 'Pon honor I was. A very odd girl. I shall ask Ned Hardcash about it.
CHAPTER IV
I