" said young Mr. Brace rather hoarsely, "that it is fearful
presumption on my part. I know I haven't got anything much to offer a
girl like you."

"Oh," I said, coming out of my first shock of surprise, "oh, but I'm
sure you have." I felt quite a lump in my throat. I was so touched at
the young man's modesty. I said again: "Oh, but I'm sure you have, Mr.
Brace. Heaps!"

And I looked at his face in the light of the street lamp past which the
'bus was swinging. That radiance and the haze of lamp-lit raindrops made
a sort of "glory" about him. He has a nice face, one can't deny it. A
fair, frank, straight, conscientious, young face. So typically the best
type of honourable, reliable, average young Englishman. Such a contrast
to the wary, subtle, dare-devil Celtic face, with the laughing, mocking
eyes of Mr. Jim Burke, for example.

The next thing I knew was that Mr. Brace had got hold of my hand and was
holding it most uncomfortably tight.

"Then, could you?" he said in that strained voice. "Do you mean you
could make me so tremendously proud and happy?"

"Oh, no! I'm afraid not," I said hastily. "I couldn't!"

"Oh, don't say that," he put in anxiously. "Miss Lovelace! If you only
knew! I am devoted to you. Nobody could be more so. If you could only
try to care for me. Of course, I see this must seem very abrupt."

"Oh, not at all," I put in hastily again. I did hate not to seem kind
and nice to him, after he'd said he was devoted, even though it did
sound--well--do I mean "stilted"? The next thing he said was also rather
stilted and embarrassing.

"But ever since I first saw you in Putney I knew the truth. You are the
one girl in the world for me!"

"Oh, no! There must be such crowds of them," I assured him. "Really
pretty ones; much nicer than me. I'm sure I'm not one bit as nice as you
think me.... Oh, heavens----"

For here a wild jolt from the motor-'bus had nearly pitched me into his
arms. The top of the 'bus is absolutely the worst place in the world to
listen to a proposal, unless you're absolutely certain of accepting the
young man. Even so it must have its drawbacks.

"I'm sure," I said, "that I should be bad-tempered, horrid to live
with----"

"Miss Lovelace----"

"And here's the Cecil. I must get off here," I said with some relief.
"Good-night. No! Please don't get off with me. I'd so much rather you
didn't."

"May I see you again, then? Soon?" he persisted, standing up on that
horrible 'bu