“How long have you been—I mean when did you come to?”
“About five minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you open your eyes—or say something?”
“Didn’t want to. I was enjoying myself.”
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Yes. Listening to all the things you were saying. You’ll never say them so well again. You’ll be too beastly self-conscious.”
Bill had turned a dark brick-red.
“Bundle—you really didn’t mind? You know, I do love you so. I have for ages. But I never have dared to tell you so.”
“You silly juggins,” said Bundle. “Why?”
“I thought you’d only laugh at me. I mean—you’ve got brains and all that—you’ll marry some bigwig.”
“Like George Lomax?” suggested Bundle.
“I don’t mean a fatuous ass like Codders. But some really fine chap who’ll be worthy of you—though I don’t think anyone could be that,” ended Bill.
“You’re rather a dear, Bill.”
“But, Bundle, seriously, could you ever? I mean, could you ever bring yourself to?”
“Could I ever bring myself to do what?”
“Marry me. I know I’m awfully thickheaded—but I do love you, Bundle. I’d be your dog or your slave or your anything.”