“Sooner than a thousand elder brothers, all as grave as Methusalem”. Clayton was so delighted hereat, that he really longed to squeeze her, although it is a thing which young ladies now–a–days never think of allowing. Let them hope that he did not do it. The probabilities are in their favour. “Oh, Clayton, how can I be such a simpleton? What _would_ my father say to me”? “What do I care, my gem, my jewel, my warm delicious pearl? For three long months I have been dying to kiss you; and now I wonʼt be cheated so. Surely you are not afraid of me, my beautiful wild rose”? Her gardening hat had fallen off, her eyes were bright with tears, and the glow upon her cheeks had faded to a pellucid gleam. So have I seen the rich red Aurora weep itself, in a pulse–throb, to a pearly and waxen pink. “No, Clayton, I am not afraid of you. I know that you are a gentleman”. “Well”, thought Clayton, “she must be a witch, or the cleverest girl in the universe, as well as the most beautiful. She knows the way to manage me, as if we had been married fifty years”. He looked so disconcerted at the implied rebuke, that she could have found it in her sweet heart to give him fifty kisses; but, with all her warmth of passion, she was a pure and sensitive maiden, full of self–respect. Though abashed for the moment, and bowing her head to the sunrise of young affection, she possessed a fine and very sensible will and way of her own. She was just the wife for Clayton Nowell—a hot, impulsive, wayward youth; proud to be praised by every one, more than proud of deserving it. With such a wife, he would ripen and stiffen into a fine, full character; with a weak and volatile spouse, he would swing to and fro to his ruin. His goodness as yet was in the material; only a soft, firm hand could fashion it. So she kept him at his distance; except every now and then, when her warm, loving nature looked forth from her eyes, for fear of hurting his feelings. Hand in hand they walked along, as if they still were children, and held much counsel, as they went, about the difficulties between them. But happen what would, they made up their minds about one thing; and for them henceforth both plural and singular were entirely merged in the dual. That sentence is priggish and pedantic, but I think young lovers can solve it; if not, let them put their heads together, and unriddle it in _labiates_. Nothing ever, ever, ever, in the world of fact, or in the reach of imagination, should hold apart that faithful pair, whose all in all was to each the other. This they settled with much satisfaction, before discussing anything else. “Except, of course, you know, darling”, said the more thoughtful maiden, “if either of us should die”.