He had scarcely spoken four words before all her airy manner had taken flight, and she had settled herself down to listen. He had noticed this, and had felt it quite natural. When he stopped, she was looking straight into his face. Her eyes were singularly large and bright and clear. "You did not expect to ask me to marry you?" she said. "Why didn't you?" It was not at all what he had expected. He did not understand her manner at all. "I--must confess," he said stiffly, "that I felt at first that there were--obstacles in the way of my doing so." "What were the obstacles?" He flushed, and drew himself up. "I have been unfortunate in my mode of expressing myself," he said. "I told you I was conscious of my own awkwardness." "Yes," she said quietly: "you have been unfortunate. That is a good way of putting it." Then she let her eyes rest on the table a few seconds, and thought a little. "After all," she said, "I have the consolation of knowing that you must have been very much in love with me. If you had not been very much in love with me, you would never have asked me to marry you. You would have considered the obstacles." "I am very much in love with you," he said vehemently, his feelings getting the better of his pride for once. "However badly I may have expressed myself, I am very much in love with you. I have been wretched for days." "Was it because you felt obliged to ask me to marry you?" she inquired. The delicate touch of spirit in her tone and words fired him to fresh admiration, strange to say. It suggested to him possibilities he had not suspected hitherto. He drew nearer to her. "Don't be too severe on me," he said--quite humbly, considering all things. And he stretched out his hand, as if to take hers. But she drew it back, smiling ever so faintly. "Do you think I don't know what the obstacles are?" she said. "I will tell you." "My affection was strong enough to sweep them away," he said, "or I should not be here." She smiled slightly again. "I know all about them, as well as you do," she said. "I rather laughed at them at first, but I don't now. I suppose I'm 'impressed by their seriousness,' as aunt Belinda says. I suppose they _are_ pretty serious--to you." "Nothing would be so serious to me as that you should let them interfere with my happiness," he answered, thrown back upon himself, and bewildered by her logical manner. "Let us forget them. I was a fool to speak as I did. Won't you answer my question?" She paused a second, and then answered,-- "You didn't expect to ask me to marry you," she said. "And I didn't expect you to"-- "But now"--he broke in impatiently. "Now--I wish you hadn't done it." "You wish"-- "You don't want _me_," she said. "You want somebody meeker,--somebody who would respect you very much, and obey you. I'm not used to obeying people." "Do you mean also that you would not respect me?" he inquired bitterly. "Oh," she replied, "you haven't respected me much!"