othing for me to write, or
for you to post!" She lifted her brilliant eyes to his--what glorious
eyes they were! He would not have been man had he not been conscious of
their amorous fire. He patted her head again in quite a paternal way.

"Nothing for me to write or for you to post"--he repeated,
abstractedly--"and how satisfactory that is!"

"Then you are pleased?" she said.

"Pleased? My dear, there is nothing to be pleased or displeased about!
The ugly old man whom you found so 'very kind' tells me to take care of
myself--which I always do. Also--to marry and settle down--which I
always don't!"

She stood upright, turning her head away from the touch of his hand.
She had never looked more attractive than at that moment,--she wore the
white gown in which he had before admired her, and a cluster of roses
which were pinned to her bodice gave rich contrast to the soft tone of
her smooth, suntanned skin, and swayed lightly with the unquiet heaving
of the beautiful bosom which might have served a sculptor as a perfect
model. A faint, quivering smile was on her lips.

"You always don't? That sounds very droll! You will be unlike every man
in the world, then,--they all marry!"

"Oh, do they? You know all about it? Wise Manella!"

And he looked at her, smiling. Her passionate eyes, full of glowing
ardour, met his,--a flashing fire seemed to leap from them into his own
soul, and for the moment he almost lost his self-possession.

"Wise Manella!" he repeated, his voice shaking a little, while he
fought with the insidious temptation which beset him,--the temptation
to draw her into his arms and take his fill of the love she was so
ready to give--"They always marry? No dear, they do NOT! Many of them
avoid marriage--" he paused, then continued--"and do you know why?"

She shook her head.

"Because it is the end of romance! Because it rings down the curtain on
a beautiful Play! The music ceases--the lights are put out--the
audience goes home,--and the actors take off their fascinating
costumes, wash away their paint and powder and sit down to
supper--possibly fried steak and onions and a pot of beer. The fried
steak and onions--also the beer--make a very good ordinary 'marriage.'"

In this flippant talk he gained the mastery over himself he had feared
to lose--and laughed heartily as he saw Manella's expression of utter
bewilderment.

"I do not understand!" she said, plaintively--"What is steak and
onions?--how do