"Daphne," I began, "I am in a mood that brooks no trifling. For weeks
I have loved you. You spurn me."

"Oh, Billy, do be sensible," Daphne murmured.

I moderated my tone. "Well, look here," I said, "why are you so cold
to me and yet flirt with my cousin? I saw you putting his tie straight
and patting his arm just now; and you won't let me even hold your
hand. It's pretty hard, Daphne."

She laughed. "My dear Billy--"

"Many thanks for yours of yesterday. I am having a very good time and
it is really kind of me to write."

"If you won't be sensible--"

"I am. It's just because I'm so serious that I jest. All the wittiest
men are broken-hearted. Go on."

"Well, my dear Billy, you mustn't be foolish. I'm very fond of you,
but you're so ridiculously young."

"You haven't a revolver about you?" I enquired.

Daphne sighed. "Billy, you're quite hopeless. Do let me try to
explain. You see, I can't--well--flirt with you, because I don't
really flirt, of course, and besides your cousin's different--he's
married."