"I like him ever so much," she said. "Do you think he will really go to America? I wish he would; but if he does, I hope it won't be for a year or so--I mean, until we go back from Europe. Still, it's rather uncertain when we _shall_ go back. Did I tell you I had persuaded aunt Belinda to travel with us? She's horribly frightened, but I mean to make her go. She'll get over being frightened after a little while." Suddenly she turned, and looked at him. "Why don't you say something?" she demanded. "What's the matter?" "It is not necessary for me to say any thing." She laughed. "Do you mean because I am saying every thing myself? Well, I suppose I am. I am--awfully happy to-day, and can't help talking. It seems to make the time go." Her face had lighted up curiously. There was a delighted excitement in her eyes, puzzling him. "Are you so fond of your father as all that?" She laughed again,--a clear, exultant laugh. "Yes," she answered, "of course I am as fond of him as all that. It's quite natural, isn't it?" "I haven't observed the same degree of enthusiasm in all the young ladies of my acquaintance," he returned dryly. He thought such rapture disproportionate to the cause, and regarded it grudgingly. They turned into an arbor; and Octavia sat down, and leaned forward on the rustic table. Then she turned her face up to look at the vines covering the roof. "It looks rather spidery, doesn't it?" she remarked. "I hope it isn't; don't you?" The light fell bewitchingly on her round little chin and white throat; and a bar of sunlight struck on her upturned eyes, and the blonde rings on her forehead. "There is nothing I hate more than spiders," she said, with a little shiver, "unless," seriously, "it's caterpillars--and caterpillars I loathe." Then she lowered her gaze, and gave her hat--a large white Rubens, all soft, curling feathers and satin bows--a charming tip over her eyes. "The brim is broad," she said. "If any thing drops, I hope it will drop on it, instead of on me. Now, what did you want to say?" He had not sat down, but stood leaning against the rustic wood-work. He looked pale, and was evidently trying to be cooler than usual. "I brought you here to ask you a question." "Well," she remarked, "I hope it's an important one. You look serious enough." "It is important,--rather," he responded, with a tone of sarcasm. "You will probably go away soon?" "That isn't exactly a question," she commented, "and it's not as important to you as to me." He paused a moment, annoyed because he found it difficult to go on; annoyed because she waited with such undisturbed serenity. But at length he managed to begin again. "I do not think you are expecting the question I am going to ask," he said. "I--do not think I expected to ask it myself,--until to-day. I do not know why--why I should ask it so awkwardly, and feel--at such a disadvantage. I brought you here to ask you--to marry me."