"I thought you might feel spiteful enough to accept this evening," concluded Lawrence.
"Take care—I might, you know—you're in danger!" She was still laughing.
"Don't mind me, you know! I could stand it, I believe."
"You're awfully amusing—sometimes, Mr. Lawrence."
"Meaning now? enquired the artist, resting on his sculls, for they were under the shadow of the bridge.
"I can't see your face distinctly," answered Fanny. "So much depends on the expression. But I think—"
"What do you think? That it's awfully amusing of me to offer to be married as a sacrifice, to your spite?"
"It's amusing anyway."
"A formal proposal would be, you mean?" asked Lawrence. Then he laughed oddly.
"I hate formality," answered Fanny. "That is, in earnest, you know. It's so disgusting when a man comes with his gloves buttoned and sits on the edge of a chair and says—"
