"That's a singular offer!" laughed Fanny, leaning far back, and playing with the tiller lines in the glow of the Bengal lights. "It's genuine of its kind," answered the young man. "Of course it isn't a sure thing, exactly," he added reflectively, "because it depends on your happening to be in the spiteful humour. But, as you say that often happens--" "Well, go on!" "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--" "And says what?" "Oh--you know the sort of thing. You must have done it scores of times." "What? Proposed and been refused? You're complimentary, at all events. I've a great mind to let you be the first, just--well--how shall I say? Just to associate you with a novel sensation." "I might disappoint you," said Fanny, demurely. "I told you so before. Just think, if I were to say 'yes,' you'd be most dreadfully caught. You'd have to eat humble pie and beg off, and say that you hadn't meant it." "Oh no!" laughed the young man. "You'd break it off in a week, and then it would be all right." "Are you going to be rude? Or are you, already? I'm not quite sure." "Neither. Of course you'd break it off, if we had an agreement to that effect." "You don't make any allowance for my spitefulness. It would be just like me to hold you to your engagement. Of course you wouldn't live long. We should be sure to fight." "Oh--sure," assented Lawrence. "That is, if you call this fighting." "It would be worse than this. But why don't you try? I'm dying to refuse you. I'm just in the humour." "Why! I thought you said there was danger! If I'd known there wasn't--by the bye, this counts in the game, doesn't it?" "There isn't anything to count, yet," said Fanny. "Look at those fiery fish--aren't they pretty? See how they squirm about, and fizzle, and behave like mad things! Oh, I never saw anything so pretty as that!" "Yes. If one must have an interruption, they do as well as anything."