I can't suggest any one."
"But who asked you to suggest any one?" she laughed. "It is you
yourself that we want to persuade to have pity on us."
"I have--much pity," said I, "for if it's rough, you'll all be
horribly seasick."
Dora ran across the room from the book-case she was inspecting.
"I would like to shake him! He is only pretending he doesn't
understand. I don't know what we shall do if you won't come with
us."
"You can't refuse, Marcus. It will be an ideal trip--and such a
comfortable yacht--and the deep blue fiords--and we've got a
French chef. You will be doing us such a favour."
"Come, say 'Yes,'" said Dora.
I wish she were not such a bouncing Juno of a girl. Large,
athletic women with hearty voices are difficult for one to deal
with. I am a match for my aunt, whom I can obfuscate with words.
But Dora doesn't understand my satire; she gives a great, healthy
laugh, and says, "Oh, rot!" which scatters my intellectual
armoury.
"It is exceedingly kind of you to think of me," I said to my
aunt, "and the proposal is tempting--the prospect is indeed
fascinating--but--"
"But what?"
"I have so many engagements," I answered feebly.
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