_How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,_ _Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!_ _My hasting days fly on with full career,_ _But my late Spring no bud or blossom shew'th._ Well, now, if Milton felt like that," he sighed, "what about me? Pauline, tell me again that you believe in me." "Of course I believe in you," she vowed. "And I am right to stay here?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, Guy, of course, of course." "You see, I shall be writing to my father to-night to tell him of our engagement, and I don't want to feel you have the least doubt of me. You haven't, have you? Never? Never? There must never have been the slightest doubt, or I shall doubt." "Dearest Guy," she said, "if you changed anything for me, our love wouldn't be the best thing for you, and I only want my love to be my love, if it is the love you want, Guy. I'm not clever; you know. I'm really stupid, but I can love. Oh, I can love you more than anyone, I think. I know, I know I can. Guy, I do adore you. But if I felt you were thinking you ought to go away on account of me, I would have to give you up." "You couldn't give me up," he proclaimed, holding her straight before him with looks that were hungry for one word or one gesture that could help him to tell her what he wanted to say. "Does my love worry you?" she whispered, faint with all the responsibility she felt for the future of this lover of hers. "Pauline, my love for you is my life." But quickly they glided away from passion to discuss projects of simple happiness; and walking together a long while under the trees beyond the wall-garden, they were surprized to hear the gong sound for lunch before they had finished the decoration of Plashers Mead as it should be for their wedding-tide. Back in the sunlight, they were dazzled by the savage colour of the gladioli in the hot August noon and found them rather gaudy after the fronded half-light where nothing had disturbed the outspread vision of a future triumphantly attainable. After lunch her mother called Pauline aside and told her that now was the moment to impress the Rector with the fact of her engagement. The tradition was that her father went up to his library for half-an-hour every day in order to rest after lunch before he sallied out into the garden or the parish. As usual his rest was consisting of standing on a chair and dragging down old numbers of The Botanical Magazine or heavy volumes of The Garden in order to search out a fact in connection with some plant. When Pauline and Guy presented themselves the Rector gave them a cordial invitation to enter, and Pauline fancied that he was being quite exceptionally kindly in his tone toward Guy. "Well, and what can I do for you two?" he asked, as he lit his long clay pipe and sat upright in his old leather armchair to regard them. "Father," said Pauline coming straight to the heart of her subject. "Have you seen my engagement ring?"