"Hush, Hercules!" Lilah snapped, exasperated, then turned her attention back to Mr. Calvert. "No, I will not marry you, so give me back my hand!" she hissed, her patience exhausted at last. Mr. Calvert looked up. His brown eyes that were almost identical to Hercules' glazed with ardor as they met hers.

"This shyness of yours is most becoming. I would not like my wife to be overly bold," were the vexing words that followed. Apparently blind to the expression on her face, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his tongue to her palm again. The provocation was too great. Temper flaming, Lilah lifted her dainty slippered foot, placed it squarely in the center of Mr. Calvert's thin chest, and shoved as hard as she could while at the same time pulling on her hand. The effect was not quite what she had intended. True, Mr. Calvert released her hand and fell over backward-but so did she! The force of her push flipped the swing. Before she knew what was happening she was tumbling backwards off the rail- less verandah, too shocked to manage more than a hoarse cry as she came crashing down on one of the flower-laden honeysuckles that edged the porch. The shock of the impact surprised an unladylike oath from her. Hercules, thrown out of the swing with her, landed on the ground nearby with an indignant yelp.

"Lilah! Oh, dear lord!" Mr. Calvert's horrified gasp was almost as shrill as Hercules' yelp.

For a long moment Lilah lay sprawled across the broken bush, stunned into silence. Sharp little branches poked her skin, but already she felt that more damage had been done to her dignity than to her person. Her temper, already lit, blazed out of control. The horrible certainty of how ridiculous she must appear, lying facedown and spread-eagled across the crushed bush, her skirts twisted anyhow around her legs, baring, she shuddered to think, how much of her person, was less than balm for her sense of outrage.