“Yes, married,” he said. “Don’t you think you know, Dolly, a dear little girl that would marry me, though I am not so young nor so handsome as Paul? You see it is not Paul now, it is me; and though he was handsomer and taller, I don’t think he was nearly so good-tempered as I am, my dear. I give very little trouble, and I should always be willing to do what my wife wanted to do--or at least almost always, Dolly--and you would not get that with many other men. Haven’t you ever thought of it before? Oh, I have, often. I went through all the others to-day, just to give myself a last chance, to see if, at the last moment, there was any one I liked better; but there was none so nice as you. You see, I have not done it without thought. Now, my pretty Dolly, my little dear, just say you will marry me before the winter, and to-morrow we can settle all the rest.” He had taken her hand as they stood together at the gate. Dolly’s amazement knew no bounds. She was so bewildered that she could only stand and gaze at him with open mouth. “Do you mean me?” she cried at last--“me?” with mingled horror and surprise. “I don’t know what you mean!” she said. “Yes, my dear, I mean you. I tell you I looked again at all the rest, and there was not one so nice. Of course I mean you, Dolly. I have always been fond of you from the first. I will make you a good husband, dear, and you will make me a sweet little wife.” “Oh, no, no, no!” Dolly cried. The world, and the sky, and the trees, seemed to be going round with her. She caught at the gate to support herself. “No, no, no! It is all a dreadful mistake.” “It cannot be a mistake. I know very well what I am doing, Dolly.” “But oh dear! oh dear! Sir Augustus, let me speak. Do you think I know what _I_ am doing? No, no, no, _no!_ You must be going out of your senses to ask me.” “Why? because you are so young and so little? But that is just what I like. You are the prettiest of all the girls. You are a dear, sweet, good little thing that will never disappoint me. No, no, it is no mistake.” To see him standing there beaming and smiling through the dusk was a terrible business for Dolly. “It _is_ a mistake. I cannot, cannot do it--indeed I cannot. I will not marry you--never! I don’t want to marry anybody,” she said, beginning to weep in her excitement. Now and then a villager would lumber by, and, seeing the couple at the porch, grin to himself and think that Miss Dolly was just the same as the other lasses. It was a pity the gentleman was so little, was all they said. CHAPTER XIV.