Yardsley. I--I spoke a little while ago about sand--courage--when it
comes to one's asking the woman he loves the greatest of all
questions. I was boastful. I pretended that I had that courage;
but--well, I am not as brave as I seem. I had come, Miss Dorothy, to
say to you the words that fell on Jennie's ears, and--and I began to
get nervous--stage-fright, I suppose it was--and I was foolish enough
to rehearse what I had to say--to you, and to you alone.
Barlow. Let me speak, Miss Andrews. I--
Yardsley. You haven't anything to do with the subject in hand, my
dear Barlow, not a thing.
Dorothy. Jennie--what--what have you to say?
Jennie. Me? Oh, mum, I hardly knows what to say! This is suddenter
than the other; but, Miss Dorothy, I'd believe him, I would, because--
I--I think he's tellin' the truth, after all, for the reason that--
oh dear--for--
Dorothy. Don't be frightened, Jennie. For what reason?
Jennie. Well, mum, for the reason that when I said "yes," mum, he
didn't act like all the other gentlemen I've said yes to, and--and k--
kuk--kiss me.
Yardsley.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139