"You weren't talking very coherently, I believe," said the young girl, turning her head to watch the fireworks. "And you've made me miss lots of pretty things, I'm sure. Oh--they've gone out already! How dark it seems, all at once! What were you asking? Whether this counted in the game? Of course it counts. Everything does. But I don't exactly see how--" She stopped and looked towards him in the dim gloom of the shadow under the bridge. But Lawrence did not speak. He looked over the side of the boat, softly slapping the black water with the blade of his scull. "Why don't you go on?" asked Fanny, tapping the boards under her foot to attract his attention. "I was thinking over the proper words," answered Lawrence. "How does one make a formal proposal of marriage? I never did such a thing in my life." "An informal one would do for fun." "I never did that, either." "Never?" "Never." "Really? Swear it, as they say on the stage." Fanny laughed softly. "Oh, by Jove, yes!" answered Lawrence, promptly. "I'll swear to that by anything you please." "Well--you'll have to do it some day, so you'd better practise at once," suggested Fanny. Lawrence did not notice that there was a sort of little relief in her tone. "I suppose one says, 'My angel, will you be mine?'" he said. "That sounds like some book or other." "It might do," answered Fanny, meditatively. "You ought to throw a little more expression into the tone. Besides, I'm not an angel, whatever the girl in the book may have been. On the whole--no--it's a little too effusive. Angel--you know. It's such nonsense! Try something else; but put lots of expression into it." "Does one get down on one's knees?" enquired Lawrence. "Oh no; I don't believe it's necessary. Besides, you'd upset the boat." "All right--here goes! My dear Miss Trehearne, will you-- "Yes. That's it. Go on. The quaver in the voice is rather well done. 'Will you--' What?" "Will you marry me?" "Yes, Mr. Lawrence, I will." There was a short pause, during which a number of fiery fish were sent off again, and squirmed and wriggled and fizzled their burning little lives away in the water. But neither of the young people looked at them. "You rather took my breath away," said Lawrence, with a change of tone. "Did I do it all right?" "Oh--quite right," answered Fanny, thoughtfully. Immediately after the words Lawrence heard a little sigh. Then Fanny heard one, too. "You didn't happen to be in earnest, did you?" she asked suddenly, in a low, soft voice. "Well--I didn't mean--that I meant--you know we agreed to play a game--" "I know we did--but--were you in earnest." "Yes--but, of course-- Oh, this isn't fair, Miss Trehearne!" "Yes, it is. I said 'yes,' didn't I?" "Certainly, but--" "There's no 'but.' I happened to be in earnest, too--that's all. I've lost the game." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love in Idleness, by F. Marion Crawford