"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep.
"Really I--I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I?
And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,--proposing, and all
that. Oh, I couldn't! You--you can't understand. I'm such a duffer
at most things."

There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the way
he colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with a
lot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It was
more or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but all
of a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like a
clam.

"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in."

And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him any
serious jolt.

"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor about
six-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "How
splendid you look!"

"I had some battle with the tie," says I. "Ain't the bow lopsided?"

"A mere trifle," says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proud
of you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainly
herself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see."

I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when she