"Oh, but then I've been out of my mind for long enough, Cynthy. The wise ones said I ran mad after the Rector's little daughter." "When you might have made a most brilliant match or two, I heard," cried Cynthia. "Yes, pet, all right," he said, laughing; "but you're in for it. I won't be pitched over." "I'm sure the state of Cyril's home is disgraceful." "I dare say, my darling; but we are not going to live there." "Don't be so stupid," cried Cynthia. "But tell me, Harry, has James Magnus cut you?" "No. Oh, no; only I am so much away now that instead of being regular chums we don't often meet. Hah! what jolly times I used to have with him, to be sure!" "I hate him," cried Cynthia, angrily. "He's a great stupid coward." "No, you don't, Cynthy; and you don't think he is a coward." "Well, perhaps I don't hate him very much, and perhaps I don't think him a very great coward; but, oh! Harry, if I had been a man, do you think I would have allowed that miserable--miserable--" "Design for a wall-paper or fresco?" suggested Artingale. "Yes, yes, yes," cried Cynthia, laughing and clapping her hands with childlike delight. "That's it: what a grand idea! Oh, Harry, how clever you are!" She looked up at him admiringly, and he smiled, and--Well, of course, that was sure to follow. Young lovers are so very foolish, and it came natural to them to tangle one another up in their arms, and for Cynthia's nose to be hidden by Artingale's moustache. Then they grew _sage_, as the French call it, once more, and Artingale spoke-- "That's right, little pet, think so if you can; but I wish, for your sake, I were--" "Were what, sir?" "Clever. Do you know, Cynthy, I often think what a good job it was that nature had the property valued before I was launched." "Why, you dear stupid old boy, what do you mean?" "What I say, pet: had me valued. Then he said, `Well, he's got no brains, and he'll never do any good for himself if he is left alone; so I'll make him a lord and give him an income.'" "Oh, Harry, what nonsense!" "And then, to help me on a bit farther when I had grown to years of indiscretion, she gave me, or is about to give me, the dearest and best and sweetest and most beautiful of little women to be my wife." Which was, of course, very stupid again; and more resulted, after which Artingale said quietly-- "Cynthy, dear, you believe in me thoroughly?" "Thoroughly, Harry." "You know I love you with all my heart?" "Yes, Harry," she replied, with her hands in his. "Then you will not think me strange if I say to you I don't want to be married yet?" "N-no," said Cynthia, with just a suspicion of hesitation. "Then I'm going to speak out plainly, darling. I'm stupid in some things, but I'm as sharp as a needle concerning anything about you, and I couldn't help seeing that the Rector and mamma thought that our wedding might take place at the same time as Julia's." "Ye-es," faltered Cynthia.