“Put that down!”

“I just wanted to read you ‘Love’s Funeral!’ It illustrates my point.  Think of yourself as you are now, and remember that it is I who am responsible for the improvement.  Here we are.  ’Love’s Funeral.’  ‘My heart is dead. . . .’ "

Ann snatched the book from his hands and flung it away.  It soared up, clearing the gallery rails, and fell with a thud on the gallery floor.  She stood facing him with sparkling eyes.  Then she moved away.

“I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly.  “I lost my temper.”

“It’s your hair,” said Jimmy soothingly.  “You’re bound to be quick-tempered with hair of that glorious red shade.  You must marry some nice, determined fellow, blue-eyed, dark-haired, clean-shaven, about five foot eleven, with a future in business.  He will keep you in order.”

“Mr. Crocker!”

“Gently, of course.  Kindly-lovingly.  The velvet thingummy rather than the iron what’s-its-name.  But nevertheless firmly.”

Ann was at the door.

“To a girl with your ardent nature some one with whom you can quarrel is an absolute necessity of life.  You and I are affinities.  Ours will be an ideally happy marriage.  You would be miserable if you had to go through life with a human doormat with ‘Welcome’ written on him.  You want some one made of sterner stuff.  You want, as it were, a sparring-partner, some one with whom you can quarrel happily with the certain knowledge that he will not curl up in a ball for you to kick, but will be there with the return wallop.  I may have my faults—­” He paused expectantly.  Ann remained silent.  “No, no!” he went on.  “But I am such a man.  Brisk give-and-take is the foundation of the happy marriage.  Do you remember that beautiful line of Tennyson’s—­’We fell out, my wife and I’?  It always conjures up for me a vision of wonderful domestic happiness.  I seem to see us in our old age, you on one side of the radiator, I on the other, warming our old limbs and thinking up snappy stuff to hand to each other—­sweethearts still!  If I were to go out of your life now, you would be miserable.  You would have nobody to quarrel with.  You would be in the position of the female jaguar of the Indian jungle, who, as you doubtless know, expresses her affection for her mate by biting him shrewdly in the fleshy part of the leg, if she should snap sideways one day and find nothing there.”

Of all the things which Ann had been trying to say during this discourse, only one succeeded in finding expression.  To her mortification, it was the only weak one in the collection.

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I am.”

“I won’t!”

“You think so now, because I am not appearing at my best.  You see me nervous, diffident, tongue-tied.  All this will wear off, however, and you will be surprised and delighted as you begin to understand my true self.  Beneath the surface—­I speak conservatively—­I am a corker!”