As Layelah said this she looked at me very earnestly, as if anxious to see how I accepted this offer. It was for me a most embarrassing moment. I loved Almah, but Layelah also was most agreeable, and I liked her very much; indeed, so much so that I could not bear to say anything that might hurt her feelings. Among all the Kosekin there was not one who was not infinitely inferior to her in my eyes. Still, I loved Almah, and I told her so again, thinking that in this way I might repel her without giving offence. But Layelah was quite ready with her reply. "If you love Almah," said she, "that is the very reason why you should marry me." This made me feel more embarrassed than ever. I stammered something about my own feelings--the manners and customs of my race--and the fear that I had of acting against my own principles. "Besides," I added, "I'm afraid it would make you unhappy." "Oh no," said Layelah, briskly; "on the contrary, it would make me very happy indeed." I began to be more and more aghast at this tremendous frankness, and was utterly at a loss what to say. "My father," continued Layelah, "is different from the other Kosekin, and so am I. I seek requital for love, and do not think it an evil." A sudden thought now suggested itself, and I caught at it as a last resort. "You have," said I, "some lover among the Kosekin. Why do you not marry him?" Layelah smiled. "I have no lover that I love," said she, "among the Kosekin." My feeble effort was thus a miserable failure. I was about saying something concerning the Kosekin alphabet or something else of an equally appropriate nature, when she prevented me. "Atam-or," said she, in a low voice. "Layelah," said I, with my mind full of confusion. "I love you!" She sat looking at me with her beautiful face all aglow her dark eyes fixed on mine with an intense and eager gaze. I looked at her and said not one single word. Layelah was the first to break the awkward silence. "You love Almah, Atam-or; but say, do you not love me? You smile at me, you meet me always when I come with warm greetings, and you seem to enjoy yourself in my society. Say, Atam-or, do you not love me?" This was a perilous and a tremendous moment. The fact is, I did like Layelah very much indeed, and I wanted to tell her so; but my ignorance of the language did not allow me to observe those nice distinctions of meaning which exist between the words "like" and "love." I knew no other word than the one Kosekin word meaning "love," and could not think of any meaning "like." It was, therefore, a very trying position for me. "Dear Layelah," said I, floundering and stammering in my confusion, "I love you; I--"