'Oh, Dick,' she cried--'dear Dick, I'm proud of you--so proud of you, no matter what you do--prouder now than ever! I think it's just grand of you to be so ready to give up everything for your mother and sisters. You seem to me to think only of them--and of me--and not a word of yourself; and I say it's just beautiful of you. I _couldn't_ be ashamed of you if you sold apples in the street. You'd always be yourself, and I couldn't help being proud of you. And as for Mrs. Tradeseant, if she won't let me be engaged to you, why, I'll throw up the place and take another one, if I can get it--or else go without one. But I'm yours now, Dick, and I shall be yours for ever.' She threw her arms round his neck, and, for the first time in her life, she raised her lips and kissed him. 'Why, what a wretch I should be,' she cried through her tears, 'if I could dream of giving you up just at the very moment when you most want my help and sympathy! Dick, Dick--dear Dick, we never were engaged till now; but now we _are_ engaged, and you won't argue me out of it!' Dick led her to a seat. For the next few minutes the conversation was chiefly of an inarticulate character. The type-founder's art has no letters to represent it. Then Dick tried to speak again in the English language. (The rest had been common to the human family.) 'This is very good of you, dearest,' he said, holding her hand tight in his own; 'very, very good and sweet of you! It's just what I might have expected; though I confess, being engaged chiefly in thinking of the thing from the practical standpoint, I _didn't_ expect it, which was awfully dull of me. But we must be practical--practical. I must devote myself in future to my mother and sisters; and _you_ mustn't waste all the best of your life in waiting for me--in waiting for a man who will probably never, never be able to marry you.' But women, thank God, are profoundly unpractical creatures! Mary looked up in his face through her tears, and made answer solemnly: 'Oh, Dick, you don't know how long I would wait for you! I want to tell you something, dear; to-day I feel I can tell you. _I_ could never have told you before; I wouldn't tell you now if it weren't for all that has happened. Eighteen months ago, when you first spoke to me, I thought to myself: “He's a charming young man, and I like him very much; he's so kind and so clever; but how could I ever marry him? It wouldn't be right; he's the son of the dancing-master.” And now to-day, dear Dick, you darling good fellow, if you turn dancing-master yourself, or anything else in the world--if you sweep a crossing, even--I shall be proud of you still; I shall feel prouder of you by far than if you stopped there selfishly in your rooms at Oxford, and never gave a thought to your mother and sisters.' She paused for a second and looked at him. Then once more she flung her arms round his neck and cried aloud, almost hysterically: