Unwittingly, I had hit upon a sovereign remedy for her tears. She sat up at once, drew her hand away, and said, with some asperity:

“Don’t be silly!”

I was a little annoyed.

“I’m not being silly. I am asking you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.”

To my intense surprise, Cynthia burst out laughing, and called me a “funny dear.”

“It’s perfectly sweet of you,” she said, “but you know you don’t want to!”

“Yes, I do. I’ve got⁠—”

“Never mind what you’ve got. You don’t really want to⁠—and I don’t either.”