Alice had some excuse for calling him so, although she liked the foolishness he displayed immensely. He dropped on his knees, holding her waist in his arms, and said all manner of delightful things, only interrupting his speeches to kiss her again and again and again. What he babbled need not be reported, as the talk of lovers, however pleasing to themselves, is extraordinarily silly when repeated to others. But the splendid glamour of love was over this pair, and what Douglas said sounded sublimely sensible to the girl, while the looks of Alice were those of a goddess to her adorer. Yet Montrose was a common-sense young man, and Miss Enistor only a tolerably pretty girl. The misleading passion of love excused each regarding the other as a divinity. They certainly did so and were as foolishly happy as Antony and Cleopatra were in their day of power. And like those famous lovers they would have regarded the world as well lost for love. "But really!" cried Alice at last, recovering her reason first, which was natural since she was a woman, "we must be sensible." "I think we are very sensible indeed." "Other people would not think so." "Why trouble about other people?" replied Montrose, reluctantly getting on his feet. "There are no other people. You and I are alone in the world." "Indeed, I think we shall be unless my father consents," sighed Miss Enistor. "Not that there will be any loneliness with you beside me," she added. "Darling!" Then another kiss and embrace before settling down to more prosaic conversation. "Tell me, dear, what does he say to you?" "Much the same as he writes to you, Douglas, I expect." Alice took the letter from her pocket. "He is not angry as I expected he would be, and says nothing about Don Pablo. All he desires--so he says--is my happiness, and if he approves of you he is quite willing that we should marry." "If he approves of me," echoed Montrose, reading the paternal letter over Alice's shoulder, "quite so. But suppose he doesn't approve?" "Don't try to cross the bridge until you come to it, Douglas. Why shouldn't my father approve, now that he evidently has given up his idea of my marrying Don Pablo? Has my father asked you down to Tremore?" "Yes!" said Montrose, producing his letter in turn, "how clever of you to guess that, dearest." "I did not guess it, as you might have seen if you read my father's letter properly," said Alice quickly. "He says that he has asked you down, or intends to ask you down. I don't know which." "Oh, here is the invitation," remarked the young man, waving his letter. "Mr. Enistor says that before he can consent to place your future in my hands he must become well acquainted with me. He invites me to Tremore for a visit of one month. In four weeks he hopes to give his decision." Alice disconsolately replaced her epistle in her pocket and watched her lover put away his communication. "That doesn't sound very promising."