“So, take and use Thy work, Amend what flaws may lurk, What strain o’ the stuff, what warpings past the aim! My times be in Thy hand! Perfect the cup as planned! Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same.” So the time passed, and an hour seemed no time. They moved to the piano, and sang Browning’s songs, after his poetry. Dallington had a good voice, and he sang one after another, concluding with “So the year’s done with! (_Love me for ever!_) All March began with April’s endeavour; May-wreaths that bound me June needs must sever; Now snows fall round me Quenching June’s fever. (Love me for ever!)” Then Margaret sang a song from “James Lee’s Wife”; and so the hours flew by, and Dallington arose to leave. “Ann Johnson will be angry with me, and think that I belong more to what she calls ‘the great Metrollops’ than to the country, if I keep such late hours,” he said. But Mr. Harris wanted some music of another kind, and an hour was spent in sacred songs and solos. At last John wondered what his mother would say to him, and felt that he must not linger longer. The old man, whose dreams were of long ago, enjoyed the evening almost as much as the young folks did; and he discreetly gave them a few minutes alone after supper; and this was John’s opportunity. “Margaret,” he said, “I think you care for me a little, but perhaps not enough to give me the answer that I want. It is a very unsatisfactory state of things that exists between us now: surely you feel it as I do. Why should we not end it by being married at once?” The suddenness of the proposal took Margaret’s breath away; and as she did not reply John continued: “I am asking you to share my poverty with me. My mother must remain undisturbed, and I should not like her income to be less than it is; but we might begin life in a small way, and be very happy together if you love me, Margaret. You do not care for a great house and extravagant expenditure any more than I do—not that any place would be too good for you, my queen——” “Oh, John; you know it is not a question of money; but I cannot marry you now, and you must see that for yourself. There are several reasons, but one will suffice. I shall never be married to you while your mother dislikes me as she does now. I could not consent to come between you two. She has no one to think of but you, and it would be too hard, after being separated from you for so many years by the ocean, to be estranged by something else.” “How do you know that my mother dislikes you? She is civil to you when you meet.”