"Not she. I'll tell you a secret," continued Mrs. Dan; "I could see by Mildred's agitation when I told her to-day, that she already loved William. I suspected it long ago." Mrs. Arkell nodded her head complacently. "I noticed her face when he was talking to her as they sat apart to-night; and I read love in it, if it ever was read. Yes, yes, it is all right. I thought I could not be mistaken in Mildred." "I say, Aunt Dan, are you coming to-night or to-morrow?" called out William. "I am coming now, my dear," replied Mrs. Dan; and she walked forward and took her son's arm. William followed with Mildred. "Now, Mildred, don't you go and tell all the world to-morrow about this wedding of ours," he began; "don't you go chattering to those Pembroke girls." "How can you suppose it likely that I would?" was the pained answer. "Why, I know all young ladies are fond of gossiping, especially when they get hold of such a topic as this." "I don't think I have ever deserved the name of gossip," observed Mildred, quietly. "Well, Mildred, I do not know that you have. But it is not all girls who possess your calm good sense. I thought it might be as well to give even you a caution." "William, you are scarcely like yourself to-night," she said, anxiously. "To suppose a caution in this case necessary for me!" He had begun to whistle, and did not answer. It was a verse of "Robin Adair," the song Charlotte was so fond of. When the verse was whistled through, he spoke-- "How very bright the stars are to-night! I think it must be a frost." Inexperienced as Mildred was practically, she yet felt that this was not the usual conversation of a lover on the day of declaration, unless he was a remarkably cool one. While she was wondering, he resumed his whistling--a verse of another song, this time. Mildred looked up at him. His face was lifted towards the heavens, but she could see it perfectly in the light of the night. He was evidently thinking more of the stars than of her, for his eyes were roving from one constellation to another. She looked down again, and remained silent. "So you like my choice, Mildred!" he presently resumed. "Choice of what?" she asked. "Choice of what! As if you did not know! Choice of a wife." "How is it you play so with my feelings this evening?" she asked, the tears rushing to her eyes. "I have not played with them that I know of. What do you mean, Mildred? You are growing fanciful." She could not trust her voice to reply. William again broke into one of his favourite airs. "I proposed that we should be married in London, amidst her friends," he said, when the few bars were brought to a satisfactory conclusion. "I thought she might prefer it. But she says she'd rather not." "Amidst whose friends?" inquired Mildred, in amazement. "Charlotte's. But in that case I suppose you could not have been bridesmaid. And there'd have been all the trouble of a journey beforehand."