"Don't you find it awkward now and then being ignorant of the time? Would you like one?" "Oh, would I not?" I answer, promptly. "There is nothing I would like better. Do you know it is the one thing for which I am always wishing." "Phyllis," says Mr. Carrington, eagerly, "let me give you one." I stare at him in silent bewilderment. Is he really in earnest? He certainly looks so; and for a moment I revel in the glorious thought. Fancy! what it would be to have a watch of my very own; to be able every five minutes to assure myself of the exact hour! Think of all the malicious pleasure I should enjoy in dangling it before Dora's jealous eyes! what pride in exhibiting it to Billy's delighted ones! Probably it would be handsomer than Dora's, which has seen service, and, being newer, would surely keep better time. Then the delight passes, and something within me whispers such joy is not for me. Of course he would only give it to me for Dora's sake, and yet I _know_--I cannot say _why_ I feel it--but I _know_ if I accepted a watch from Mr. Carrington all at home would be angry, and it would cause a horrible row. "Thank you," I say mournfully. "Thank you _very, very_ much, Mr. Carrington, but I could not take it from you. It is very kind of you to offer it, and I would accept it if I could, but it would be of no use. At home I know they would not let me have it, and so it would be a pity for you to spend all your money upon it for nothing." "What nonsense!" impatiently. "_Who_ would not let you take it?" "Papa, mamma, every one," I answer, with deepest dejection. (I would so _much_ have liked that watch! Why, _why_ did he put the delightful but transient idea into my head?) "They would all say I acted wrongly in taking it, and--and they would send it back to you again." "Is there anything else you would like, Phyllis, that I _might_ give you?" "No, nothing, thank you. I must only wait. Mother has promised me her watch upon my wedding morning." "You seem comfortably certain of being married, sooner or later," he says, with a laugh that still shows some vexation. "Do you ever think what _sort_ of a husband you would like, Phyllis?" "No, I never think of disagreeable things, if I can help it," is my somewhat tart reply. My merry mood is gone: I feel in some way injured, and inclined towards snappishness. "And from what _I_ have seen of husbands I think they are all, every one, each more detestable than the other. If I were an heiress I would never marry; but, being a girl without a fortune, I suppose I must." Mr. Carrington roars.