Fanny had not been there before. She had heard, though, of its aloofness; it was regarded as a dangerous spot. But Fanny was a brave girl. Besides, Annandale was at his worst, and even at his best was not very alarming.
The ascent effected, Fanny peeped from a casement. “Why,” she exclaimed, “you can see everywhere!” She looked about. “But no one can see you.”
Assured of that, she produced a little gold box. On the back were her initials in jewels. She opened it, took a cigarette and lit it. “Will you have one?” she asked.
“This is a deuced nice case,” said Annandale.
Fanny puffed and smiled.
“A present, I suppose.”
“Yes. But you must not ask from whom.”
Annandale looked out at the landscape, then in at the girl. “There is something else I want to ask.”
So grave was his tone that Fanny deployed for action.
“Will you marry me?”
Though Fanny had deployed, the shot bowled her over. Into one of the chairs she dropped. Already Annandale had captured the other.
“Will you?”
But Fanny was recovering. With an air of vexation in which there was amusement, she puffed at her cigarette and then at him.
“Now, honestly, have I ever given you the slightest encouragement to ask me that?” She hesitated a moment, puffed again and added: “We have