Phil drew away his hand from hers.  His blue eyes were grave.

“Don’t, Carlotta!  I am afraid the chap was right about the real-earnestness.  It may be a fine jest to you.  It isn’t to me.  You see I happen to be in love with you.”

“Of course,” murmured Carlotta.  “That is quite understood.  Did you think I would have bothered to drag you clear up on a mountain top to propose to me if I hadn’t known you were in love with me and—­I with you?” she added softly.

“Carlotta!  Do you mean it?” Phil’s whole heart was in his honest blue eyes.

“Of course, I mean it.  Foolish!  Didn’t you know?  Would I have tormented you so all these months if I hadn’t cared?”

“But, Carlotta, sweetheart, I can’t believe you are in earnest even now.  Would you marry me really?”

“Would I? Will I is the verb I brought you up here to use.  Mind your grammar.”

Phil clasped his hands behind him for safe keeping.

“But I can’t ask you to marry me—­at least not to-day.”

Carlotta made a dainty little face at him.

“And why not?  Have you any religious scruples about proposing on Sunday?”

He grinned absent-mindedly and involuntarily at that.  But he shook his head and his hands stayed behind his back.

“I can’t propose to you because I haven’t a red cent in the world—­at least not more than three red cents.  I couldn’t support an everyday wife on ’em, not to mention a fairy princess.”

“As if that mattered,” dismissed Carlotta airily.  “You are in love with me, aren’t you?”

“Lord help me!” groaned Phil.  “You know I am.”

“And I am in love with you—­for the present.  You had better ask me while the asking is good.  The wind may veer by next week, or even by tomorrow.  There are other young men who do not require to be commanded to propose.  They spurt, automatically and often, like Old Faithful.”

Phil’s ingenuous face clouded over.  The other young men were no fabrication, as he knew to his sorrow.  He was forever stumbling over them at Carlotta’s careless feet.

“Don’t, Carlotta,” he begged again.  “You don’t have to scare me into subjection, you know.  If I had anything to justify me for asking you to marry me I’d do it this minute without prompting.  You ought to know that.  And you know I’m jealous enough already of the rest of ’em, without your rubbing it in now.”

“Don’t worry, old dear,” smiled Carlotta.  “I don’t care a snap of my fingers for any of the poor worms, though I wouldn’t needlessly set foot on ’em.  As for justifications I have a whole bag of them up my sleeve ready to spill out like a pack of cards when the time comes.  You don’t have to concern yourself in the least about them.  Your business is to propose.  ’Come, woo me, woo, me, for now I am in a holiday humor and like enough to consent’”—­she quoted Tony’s lines and, leaning toward him, lifted her flower face close to his.  “Shall I count ten?” she teased.