and looked more and more disconcerted as he
proceeded. 'What a noble figure she has; and what magnificent black
eyes; and what a fine spirit of her own; and what a tongue of her own,
too, when she likes to use it. I perfectly adore her! But never mind,
Milicent: I wouldn't have her for my wife, not if she'd a kingdom for her
dowry! I'm better satisfied with the one I have. Now then! what do you
look so sulky for? don't you believe me?'

'Yes, I believe you,' murmured she, in a tone of half sad, half sullen
resignation, as she turned away to stroke the hair of her sleeping
infant, that she had laid on the sofa beside her.

'Well, then, what makes you so cross? Come here, Milly, and tell me why
you can't be satisfied with my assurance.'

She went, and putting her little hand within his arm, looked up in his
face, and said softly,--

'What does it amount to, Ralph? Only to this, that though you admire
Annabella so much, and for qualities that I don't possess, you would
still rather have me than her for your wife, which merely proves that you
don't think it necessary to love your wife; you are satisfied if she can
keep your house, and take care of your child. But I'm not cross; I'm
only sorry; for,' added she, in a low, tremulous accent, withdrawing her
hand from his arm, and bending her looks on the rug, 'if you don't love
me, you don't, and it can't be helped.'

'Very true; but who told you I didn't? Did I say I loved Annabella?'

'You said you adored her.'

'True, but adoration isn't love. I adore Annabella, but I don't love
her; and I love thee, Milicent, but I don't adore thee.' In proof of his
affection, he clutched a handful of her light brown ringlets, and
appeared to twist them unmercifully.

'Do you really, Ralph?' murmured she, with a faint smile beaming through
her tears, just putting up her hand to his, in token that he pulled
rather too hard.

'To be sure I do,' responded he: 'only you bother me rather, sometimes.'

'I bother you!' cried she, in very natural surprise.

'Yes, you--but only by your exceeding goodness. When a boy has been
eating raisins and sugar-plums all day, he longs for a squeeze of sour
orange by way of a change. And did you never, Milly, observe the sands
on the sea-shore; how nice and smooth they look, and how soft and easy
they feel to the foot? But if you plod along, for half an hour, over
this soft, easy carpet--giving way at every step, yielding the more the