“How strange that we should have both happened to go to the Museum this morning!” she sighed. Then, “Dan,” she broke in, “do you suppose that heaven is any different from this?” “I hope not--if I'm to go there.” “Hush, dear; you mustn't talk so.” “Why, you provoked me to it.” “Did I? Did I really? Do you think I tempted you to do it? Then I must be wicked, whether I knew I was doing it or not. Yes.” The break in her voice made him look more keenly at her, and he saw the tears glimmer in her eyes. “Alice!” “No; I'm not good enough for you. I always said that.” “Then don't say it any more. That's the only thing I won't let you say.” “Do you forbid it, really? Won't you let me even think it?” “No, not even think it.” “How lovely you are! Oh! I like to be commanded by you.” “Do you? You'll have lots of fun, then. I'm an awfully commanding spirit.” “I didn't suppose you were so humorous--always. I'm afraid you won't like me. I've no sense of fun.” “And I'm a little too funny sometimes, I'm afraid.” “No, you never are. When?” “That night at the Trevors'. You didn't like it.” “I thought Miss Anderson was rather ridiculous,” said Alice. “I don't like buffoonery in women.” “Nor I in men,” said Mavering, smiling. “I've dropped it.” “Well, now we must part. I must go home at once,” said Alice. “It's perfectly insane.” “Oh no, not yet; not till we've said something else; not till we've changed the subject.” “What subject?” “Miss Anderson.” Alice laughed and blushed, but she was not vexed. She liked to have him understand her. “Well, now,” she said, as if that were the next thing, “I'm going to cross here at once and walk up the other pavement, and you must go back through the Garden; or else I shall never get away from you.” “May I look over at you?” “You may glance, but you needn't expect me to return your glance.” “Oh no.” “And I want you to take the very first Cambridge car that comes along. I command you to.” “I thought you wanted me to do the commanding.” “So I do--in essentials. If you command me not to cry when I get home, I won't.” She looked at him with an ecstasy of self-sacrifice in her eyes. “Ah, I sha'n't do that. I can't tell what would open. But--Alice!” “Well, what?” She drifted closely to him, and looked fondly up into his face. In walking they had insensibly drawn nearer together, and she had been obliged constantly to put space between them. Now, standing at the corner of Arlington Street, and looking tentatively across Beacon, she abandoned all precautions. “What! I forget. Oh yes! I love you!” “But you said that before, dearest!” “Yes; but just now it struck me as a very novel idea. What if your mother shouldn't like the idea?” “Nonsense! you know she perfectly idolises you. She did from the first. And doesn't she know how I've begin behaving about you ever since I--lost you?” “How have you behaved? Do tell me, Alice?”