She sprang towards him.
"Come now, thou chattel, that I am resolved to carry with me from my father's house," said he.
She checked in her approach.

"'Tis not in such words that I'll be wooed," said she.
"A fig for words!" he cried.

"Art wooed and won.

Confess it." "You want nothing for self-esteem," she informed him gravely.
"One thing, Hortensia," he amended.

"One thing I want--I lack--to esteem myself greater than any king that rules." "I like that better," she laughed, and suddenly she was in tears.