Rose Aylmer of "every virtue, every grace," whether of form or
family; yet making nothing but a devastating and death-dealing use of
them--how familiar it all was!--and how many more of them there seemed
to be in the world, on a man's reckoning, than on a woman's!

"And you know," said the lad, eagerly, "though she's so _frightfully_
pretty--well, frightfully fetching, rather--and well dressed and all the
rest of it, she isn't a bit silly, not one of your empty-headed
girls--not she. She's read a _lot_ of things--a lot! I'm sure, Miss
Boyce"--he looked at her confidently,--"if _you_ were to see her you'd
think her awfully clever. And yet she's so little--and so dainty--and
she dances--my goodness! you should see her dance, skirt-dance I
mean--Letty Lind isn't in it! She's good too, awfully good. I think her
mother's a most dreadful old bore--well, no, I didn't mean that--of
course I didn't mean that!--but she's fussy, you know, and invalidy, and
has to be wrapped up in shawls, and dragged about in bath chairs, and
Betty's an angel to her--she is really--though her mother's always
snapping her head off. And as to the _poor_--"

Something in his tone, in the way he had of fishing for her approval,
sent Marcella into a sudden fit of laughter. Then she put out a hand to
restrain this plunging lover.

"Look here--do come to the point--have you proposed to her?"

"I should rather think I have!" said the boy, fervently. "About once a
week since Christmas. Of course she's played with me--that sort always
does--but I think I might really have a chance with her, if it weren't
for her mother--horrible old--no, of _course_ I don't mean that! But
now it comes in--what I oughtn't to tell you--I _know_ I oughtn't to
tell you! I'm always making a beastly mess of it. It's because I can't
help talking of it!"

And shaking his curly head in despair, he once more plunged his red
cheeks into his hands and fell abruptly silent.

Marcella coloured for sympathy. "I really wish you wouldn't talk in
riddles," she said. "What is the matter with you?--of course you must
tell me."

"Well, I know you won't mind!" cried the lad, emerging. "As if you could
mind! But it sounds like my impudence to be talking to you
about--about--You see," he blurted out, "she's going to Italy with the
Raeburns. She's a connection of theirs, somehow, and Miss Raeburn's
taken a fancy to her lately--and her mother's treated me like dirt ever
since they asked her