Miss Delburg had got back into her seat, where she munched a cake and
continued her tea. The chair was so deep and long that her little bits
of feet did not nearly reach the ground, but dangled there.
"Mayn't I pour you out some, too?" she asked, getting forward again. "I
do love to pour out--and do you take sugar--? I like lumps and lumps of
it."
"Oh--er--yes," Michael agreed absently, and then he went on with the
determined air of a person getting something off his chest. "I hardly
know how to say what I am thinking of, it sounds so strange. Listen--I
also must marry someone--anyone--to avert a fate I don't want--What do
you say to marrying _me_?"
The teapot came down into the tray with a bump, while the round,
childish eyes grew like saucers with astonishment.
"Oh!"
"I dare say it does surprise you--" Michael then hastened to add. "I
mean, we should only go through the ceremony, of course, and you could
get your money and I my freedom."
The girl clasped her hands round her knees.
"And I should never have to see you again?" in a glad voice of
comprehension.
Michael leaned forward nearer to her.
"Well--no--never, unless you wished."
Miss Delburg actually kicked her feet with delight.
"It is a perfectly splendid suggestion," she announced. "We could just
oblige one another in this way, and need never see or speak to each
other again. What made it come into your head? Do you really think we
could do that--Oh! how rude of me--I've forgotten to pour out your tea!"
"Never mind, talking about--our marriage--is more interesting," and Mr.
Arranstoun's blue eyes filled with mischievous appreciation of the
situation, even beyond the seriousness of the discussion he meant to
carry to an end. But this aspect did not so much concern Miss Delburg,
as that she had let slip a particular pleasure for the moment, that of
being allowed a teapot in her own hand, instead of being given a huge
bowl of milk with a drop of weak coffee mixed in it, and watching a like
fate fall upon her companions.
When this delightful business was accomplished to her satisfaction, her
sweet little round face a model of serious responsibility the while, she
handed Michael the cup and drew herself back once more into the depth
of the giant chair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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