“How can I go,” he said, argumentatively, “with you standing there--looking like that?” “I really believe,” the girl said, slowly, “that he is afraid; yes, he is afraid. And you always said,” she added, turning to him, “you were so brave.” “Oh, I am sure I never said that,” exclaimed the young man, calmly. “I may be brave, in fact, I am quite brave, but I never said I was. Some one must have told you.” “Yes, he is afraid,” she said, nodding her head to the tall clock across the hall, “he is temporizing and trying to save time. And afraid of a man, too, and such a good man who would not hurt any one.” “You know a bishop is always a very difficult sort of a person,” he said, “and when he happens to be your father, the combination is just a bit awful. Isn't it now? And especially when one means to ask him for his daughter. You know it isn't like asking him to let one smoke in his study.” “If I loved a girl,” she said, shaking her head and smiling up at him, “I wouldn't be afraid of the whole world; that's what they say in books, isn't it? I would be so bold and happy.” “Oh, well, I'm bold enough,” said the young man, easily; “if I had not been, I never would have asked you to marry me; and I'm happy enough--that's because I did ask you. But what if he says no,” continued the youth; “what if he says he has greater ambitions for you, just as they say in books, too. What will you do? Will you run away with me? I can borrow a coach just as they used to do, and we can drive off through the Park and be married, and come back and ask his blessing on our knees--unless he should overtake us on the elevated.” “That,” said the girl, decidedly, “is flippant, and I'm going to leave you. I never thought to marry a man who would be frightened at the very first. I am greatly disappointed.”