, not of Richard Gilbert.

"Speak to me, Norine," he said, "for Heaven's sake don't sit silent like
this--only to answer no. For good or evil, let me have my answer at
once."

But still she sat mute. She had lost Laurence Thorndyke--lost--nay he
had never been hers for one poor second. He belonged to that beautiful,
high-bred heiress whom he was to marry in the spring. She would read it
in the papers some day, and then--her own blank, empty, aimless life
spread before her. She turned suddenly to the man beside her, with
something of the look her face had worn last night when she had first
heard of Thorndyke's marriage.

"You are very good," she answered, quite steadily. "I will be your wife
if you like."

"Thank Heaven!"--he said under his breath. "Thank Heaven!"

Her heart smote her. She was giving him so little--he was giving her so
much. He had always been her good, kind, faithful friend, and she had
liked him so much. Yes, that was just it, she liked him so well she
could never love him. But at least she would be honest.

"I--I don't care for--I mean I don't love----" she broke down, her eyes
fixed on her muff. "Oh, Mr. Gilbert, I do like you, but not like that.
I--I know I'm not half good enough ever to marry you."

He smiled, a smile of great content.

"You will let me be the judge of that, Norry. You are quite sure you
like me?"

"Oh, yes. I always did, you know, but I never--no never thought you
cared for-- Oh, dear me! how odd it seems. What will Uncle Reuben say?"

Mr Gilbert smiled again.

"Uncle Reuben won't lose his senses with surprise, I fancy. Ah, Norry,
Uncle Reuben's eyes are not half a quarter so bright nor so black as
yours, but he has seen more than you after all."

And then all the way home he poured into her pleased listening ear the
story of her future life. It sounded like a fairy tale to the country
girl. A dazzling vista spread before her, a long life in "marble halls,"
Brussels carpets, satin upholstery, a grand piano, pictures, books, and
new music without end. Silk dresses, diamond ear-rings, the theatres,
the opera, a carriage, a waiting-maid--French, if possible--her favorite
heroines all had French maids, Long Branch, Newport, balls,
dinners--her head swam with the dazzle and delight of it all. Be his
wife--of course she would be his wife--to-morrow, if it were
practicable.

But she did not say this, you understand. Her face was all rosy and
dimpling and smiling as they