talking all the while, and Tom on his part would have been glad to
prolong the situation indefinitely, for the pleasure of having her
little face so close to his, and her hands flirting the blossoms about
his lips was entrancing.

"No," pursued she, "I am tired of brilliant men; they always make my
head ache with their grand talk. You know I'm a childish little thing,
Tom, and learned discussions don't suit me."

"You're a fairy, a witch, an enchanted princess!" cried Tom.

"Exactly," replied Elsie. "Perhaps a verbena would look better than a
rosebud, Tom."

Tom cared very little what she put in his button-hole; a thistle, thorns
and all, would have been precious to him if her hands had touched it,
and he would have torn his fingers against the prickles with an
exquisite sense of enjoyment.

"No, the rose is the prettiest," said Elsie, and she threw the verbena
away, and began her task again.

"Are you tired; do you want to get up, Tom?"

"You know I'd rather be here than in heaven!" he exclaimed.

Elsie gave him one of her bewildering glances.

"You don't mean that," said she; "you know you don't!"

"I do, I do! Oh, Elsie!"

"Keep still, keep still. You jump about so that I can't fasten the rose;
there, I've lost the pin; no, here it is."

She was so busy with her work now that her face bent quite close to his,
her fair curls touched his cheeks, her breath stirred the hair on his
temples; the intoxication of the moment carried Tom beyond all power of
self-restraint.

He snatched Elsie's two hands and cried out:

"I must speak; I shall die if I don't! I haven't said a word since I
came back; I know it's useless; but I love you, Elsie, I do love you."

She struggled faintly for an instant, then allowed him to keep her
hands, and looked down into his face through her drooping lashes with an
expression that made Tom's head fairly reel.

"Don't be angry with me," he pleaded; "don't drive me away! I'll never
open my lips; just let me speak now! You can't think how much I love
you, Elsie. I'd cut myself into inch pieces if it would do you any good.
I'd die for you."

"I would rather you lived," whispered Elsie.

Tom caught the words; a mad hope sprang up in his honest heart; he knew
that it was folly, but he could not subdue it then.

"If you could only learn to love me," he went on, hurriedly; "I'd be a
slave to you, Elsie! I am rich now; I could give you everything your
heart desired; if you could o