“Do take pity on our poor sex,” said Agatha maliciously. “You are so rich, and so very clever, and really so nice looking that you ought to share yourself with somebody. Gertrude would be only too happy.” Trefusis grinned and shook his head, slowly but emphatically. “I suppose _I_ should have no chance,” continued Agatha pathetically. “I should be delighted, of course,” he replied with simulated confusion, but with a lurking gleam in his eye that might have checked her, had she noticed it. “Do marry me, Mr. Trefusis,” she pleaded, clasping her hands in a rapture of mischievous raillery. “Pray do.” “Thank you,” said Trefusis determinedly; “I will.” “I am very sure you shan’t,” said Agatha, after an incredulous pause, springing up and gathering her skirt as if to run away. “You do not suppose I was in earnest, do you?” “Undoubtedly I do. _I_ am in earnest.” Agatha hesitated, uncertain whether he might not be playing with her as she had just been playing with him. “Take care,” she said. “I may change my mind and be in earnest, too; and then how will you feel, Mr. Trefusis?” “I think, under our altered relations, you had better call me Sidney.” “I think we had better drop the joke. It was in rather bad taste, and I should not have made it, perhaps.” “It would be an execrable joke; therefore I have no intention of regarding it as one. You shall be held to your offer, Agatha. Are you in love with me?” “Not in the least. Not the very smallest bit in the world. I do not know anybody with whom I am less in love or less likely to be in love.” “Then you must marry me. If you were in love with me, I should run away. My sainted Henrietta adored me, and I proved unworthy of adoration--though I was immensely flattered.” “Yes; exactly! The way you treated your first wife ought to be sufficient to warn any woman against becoming your second.” “Any woman who loved me, you mean. But you do not love me, and if I run away you will have the advantage of being rid of me. Our settlements can be drawn so as to secure you half my fortune in such an event.” “You will never have a chance of running away from me.” “I shall not want to. I am not so squeamish as I was. No; I do not think I shall run away from you.” “I do not think so either.” “Well, when shall we be married?” “Never,” said Agatha, and fled. But before she had gone a step he caught her. “Don’t,” she said breathlessly. “Take your arm away. How dare you?” He released her and shut the door of the conservatory. “Now,” he said, “if you want to run away you will have to run in the open.” “You are very impertinent. Let me go in immediately.” “Do you want me to beg you to marry me after you have offered to do it freely?” “But I was only joking; I don’t care for you,” she said, looking round for an outlet.