'Let me go away. Let me go after her,' said Merry, pushing him off,
and giving him--to tell the truth--more than one sounding slap upon his
outstretched face.
'Not till you say yes. You haven't told me. Will you have me for your
husband?'
'No, I won't. I can't bear the sight of you. I have told you so a
hundred times. You are a fright. Besides, I always thought you liked my
sister best. We all thought so.'
'But that wasn't my fault,' said Jonas.
'Yes it was; you know it was.'
'Any trick is fair in love,' said Jonas. 'She may have thought I liked
her best, but you didn't.'
'I did!'
'No, you didn't. You never could have thought I liked her best, when you
were by.'
'There's no accounting for tastes,' said Merry; 'at least I didn't mean
to say that. I don't know what I mean. Let me go to her.'
'Say "Yes," and then I will.'
'If I ever brought myself to say so, it should only be that I might hate
and tease you all my life.'
'That's as good,' cried Jonas, 'as saying it right out. It's a bargain,
cousin. We're a pair, if ever there was one.'
This gallant speech was succeeded by a confused noise of kissing and
slapping; and then the fair but much dishevelled Merry broke away, and
followed in the footsteps of her sister.
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