u like,--call me any name you choose,--and I promise not
to be one bit angry. There!"

When Luttrell has allowed himself time to let his own strong brown
fingers close upon hers, and has solaced himself still further by
pressing his lips to them, he takes courage and goes on, with a
slightly accelerated color:

"Well, you see, Molly, you have made the subject a forbidden one,
and--er--it is about our engagement I want to speak. Now, remember your
promise, darling, and don't be vexed with me if I ask you to shorten
it. Many people marry and are quite comfortable on five hundred pounds
a year; why should not we? I know a lot of fellows who are doing
uncommonly well on less."

"Poor fellows!" says Molly, full of sympathy.

"I know I am asking you a great deal,"--rather nervously,--"but won't
you think of it, Molly?"

"I am afraid I won't, just yet," replies that lady, suavely. "Be
sensible, Teddy; remember all we said to John, and think how foolish we
should look going back of it all. Why should things not go on safely
and secretly, as at present, and let us put marriage out of our heads
until something turns up? I am like Mr. Micawber; I have an almost
religious belief in the power things have of turning up."

"_I_ haven't," says Luttrell, with terse melancholy.

"So much the worse for you. And besides, Teddy, instinct tells me you
are much nicer as a lover than you will be as a husband. Once you
attain to that position, I doubt I shall be able to order you about as
I do at present."

"Try me."

"Not for a while. There, don't look so dismal, Ted; are we not
perfectly happy as we are?"

"You may be, perhaps."

"Don't say, 'perhaps;' you may be certain of it," says she, gayly. "I
haven't a doubt on the subject. Come, do look cheerful again. Men as
fair as you should cultivate a perpetual smile."

"I wish I was a nigger," says Luttrell, impatiently. "You have such an
admiration for blackamoors, that then, perhaps, you might learn to care
for me a degree more than you do just now. Shadwell is dark enough for
you."

"Yes; isn't he handsome?" With much innocent enthusiasm. "I thought
last night at dinner, when----"

"I don't in the least want to know what you thought last night of
Shadwell's personal appearance," Luttrell interrupts her, angrily.

"And I don't in the least want you to hold my hand a moment longer,"
replies Miss Massereene, with saucy retaliation, drawing her fingers
from his with a sudden m