ou once, and I spoke
roughly, rudely, brutally; but it was the way you took what I said which
made me understand you. You were so fine, so noble, so sweet! Instead of
making my stupidity an excuse for shutting yourself away from what your
father was doing, you immediately threw yourself into it, you began to
work with him and for him--as of course I might have seen that you would
do directly you came to know him. I was a fool, and you were an
angel--that summarizes the situation."

A faint smile curled Lesley's lips, although she did not look up. "I am
afraid there is not much of the angel about me," she said.

"Ah, you can't see yourself as others see you," he answered, quite
ignoring the implication in her remark which a less ardent lover might
have resented. "To me, at any rate, you are the one woman in the world,
the only one I have ever loved--shall ever love as long as I live--the
fulfilment of my ideal--the realization of all my dreams!"

His vehemence made Lesley draw back.

"You exaggerate," she said with a slight shake of the head. "Indeed, I
am not all that--I could not be. I am very ignorant and full of faults.
I have a bad temper----"

"You have a temper that is sweetness itself!"

"Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"--with a look of reproach. "You who
have seen me so angry!"

"Your temper is just like your father's," said Maurice, dogmatically. "A
little hot, if you like, but sweet----"

"Something like preserved ginger?" asked Lesley.

The two young people looked at each other with laughter in their eyes.
This was Lesley's way of trying to stave off the inevitable. If
Maurice's declaration could only be construed into idle compliment, she
would be rid of the necessity of giving him a plain answer. And what had
been begun as a proposal of marriage seemed likely to degenerate into a
fencing match.

Maurice saw the danger, and was too quick-witted to fall unawares into
the trap which Lesley had laid for him. A war of words was the very
thing in which he and Ethel most delighted; and it was usually quite
easy to induce brother and sister to engage upon it. But on this
occasion he was too much in earnest for word-play. He laughed at
Lesley's simile, and then became suddenly and almost fiercely grave.

"I can't let you turn the whole thing into a joke," he said. "You know
that I mean what I say. It is a matter of life and death to me. I love
you with my whole heart, and I come to-day to know wheth