Part 21 (2/2)

”That's all right. I've got you,” he said cheerily. ”None the worse, eh?

What are you trying to do? May as well finish before you come down.”

Dot seemed for a moment inclined to resent the support thus jauntily given, but against her will her sense of humour prevailed.

She uttered a m.u.f.fled laugh. ”I'm getting apples for dessert.”

”All in your Sunday clothes!” commented Bertie. ”That comes of procrastination--the fatal British defect.”

”I hate people who hustle,” remarked Dot, hoping that her hot cheeks were not visible at that alt.i.tude.

”Meaning me?” said Bertie, settling himself for an argument.

”Oh, I suppose you can't help it,” said Dot, filling her basket with feverish speed. ”You Americans are all much too greedy to wait for anything. Am I very heavy?”

”Not in the least,” said Bertie. ”I like being sat on now and then. I admit the charge of greed but not of impatience. You misjudge me there.”

At this point a large apple dropped suddenly upon his upturned face and, having struck him smartly between the eyes, fell with a thud to the ground.

Bertie said ”d.a.m.n!” but luckily for Dot he did not budge an inch.

”I beg your pardon,” he added a moment later.

”What for?” said Dot.

”For swearing,” he replied. ”I forgot you didn't like it.”

”Oh!” said Dot; and after a pause, ”Then I beg yours.”

”Did you do it on purpose?” he asked curiously.

”I want to get down, please,” said Dot.

He lowered her from his shoulder to his arms with perfect ease, set her on the ground, and held her fast.

”Dot,” he said, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, ”if you're going to be violent, I guess I shall be violent too.”

”Let me go!” said Dot.

But still he held her. ”Dot,” he said again. ”I won't hustle you any. I swear I won't hustle you. But--my dear, you'll marry me some day.

Isn't that so?”

Dot was silent. She was straining against his arms, and yet he held her, not fiercely, not pa.s.sionately, but with a mastery the greater for its very coolness.

”I'll wait for you,” he said. ”I'll wait three years. I shall be twenty-five then, and you'll be twenty-one. But you'll marry me then, Dot. You'll have to marry me then.”

”Have to!” flashed Dot.

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