Do we forget our childish loves? I think not. The objects change, of course, but the feeling, when it has been true and unselfish, keeps its character still, and is always pleasant to remember. It was very silly, no doubt, but I question if now I could love anybody in a fonder, humbler, faithfuller way than I adored that great, merry, good-natured schoolboy. And though I know he has not an ounce of brains, is the exact opposite of anybody I could fall in love with now--still, to this day, I look kindly on the round, rosy face of "Colin, my dear." I wonder if he ever will marry our Lisa. As far as I notice, people do not often marry their childish companions; they much prefer strangers. Possibly, from mere novelty and variety, or else from the fact that as kin are sometimes "less than kind," so one's familiar associates are often the furthest from one's sympathies, interests, or heart. With this highly moral and amiable sentiment--a fit conclusion for a social evening, I will lock my desk. ***** Lucky I did! What if Lisabel had found me writing at--one in the morning! How she would have teased me--even under the circumstances of last night, which seem to have affected her mighty little, considering. I heard her at my door, from without, grumble at it being bolted. She came in and sat down by my fire. Quite a picture, in a blue flannel dressing-gown, with her light hair dropping down in two wavy streams, and her eyes as bright as if it were any hour rather than 1.30 a.m., as I showed her by my watch. "Nonsense! I shall not go to bed yet. I want to talk a bit, Dora; you ought to feel flattered by my coming to tell you, first of anybody. Guess now,--what has happened?" Nothing ill, certainly--for she held her head up, laughing a little, looking very handsome and pleased. "You never will guess, for you never believed it would come to pass, but it has. Treherne proposed to me to-night." The news quite took my breath away, and then I questioned its accuracy. "He has only been giving you a few more of his silly speeches, he means nothing. Why don't you put a stop to it all?" Lisabel was not vexed--she never is--she only laughed. "I tell you, Dora, it is perfectly true. You may believe or not,--I don't care--but he really did it." "How, when, and where, pray?" "In the conservatory; beside the biggest orange-tree; a few minutes before he left." I said, since she was so very matter-of-fact, perhaps, she would have no objection to tell me the precise words in which he "did it." "Oh, dear, no; not the smallest objection. We were joking about a bit of orange-blossom Colin had given me, and Treherne wanted me to throw away; but I said 'No, I liked the scent, and meant to wear a wreath of natural orange-flowers when I was married.' Upon which he grew quite furious, and said it would drive him mad if I ever married any man but him. Then he got hold of my hand, and--the usual thing, you know." She blushed a little."