ikes it better.
But I am accustomed to it."

"Don't you think I could take care of you?"

"You _are_ taking capital care of me," said Lois, not knowing exactly
how to understand him. "Just now it is your business; and I should say
you were doing it well."

"What would you say if I told you that I wanted to take care of you all
your life?"

He had let the horses come to a walk; the sleigh-bells only tinkled
softly; no other bells were near. Which way they had gone Lois had not
considered; but evidently it had not been towards the busy and noisy
haunts of men. However, she did not think of this till a few minutes
afterwards; she thought now that Mr. Dillwyn's words regarded Madge's
sister, and her feeling of independence became rigid.

"A kind wish,--but impracticable," she answered.

"Why?"

"I shall be too far off. That is one thing."

"Where are you going to be?--Forgive me for asking!"

"O yes. I shall be keeping school in New England somewhere, I suppose;
first of all, at Esterbrooke."

"But if I had the care of you--you would not be there?"

"That is my place," said Lois shortly.

"Do you mean it is the place you prefer?"

"There is no question of preference. You know, one's work is what is
given one; and the thing given me to do, at present, seems to be there.
Of course I do prefer what my work is."

Still the horses were smoothly walking. Mr. Dillwyri was silent a
moment.

"You did not understand what I said to you just now. It was earnest."

"I did not think it was anything else," said Lois, beginning to wish
herself at home. "I am sure you meant it, and I know you are very good;
but--you cannot take care of me."

"Give me your reasons," he said, restraining the horses, which would
have set off upon a quicker pace again.

"Why, Mr. Dillwyn, it is self-evident. You would not respect me if I
allowed you to do it; and I should not respect myself. We New England
folks, if we are nothing else, we are independent."

"So?--" said Mr. Dillwyn, in a puzzled manner, but then a light broke
upon him, and he half laughed.--"I never heard that the most rampant
spirit of independence made a wife object to being dependent on her
husband."

"A wife?" said Lois, not knowing whether she heard aright.

"Yes," said he. "How else? How could it be else? Lois, may I have you,
to take care of the rest of my life, as my very own?"

The short, smothered breath with which this was spoken was intelligible
enough