"Well, it’s a serious matter, my child, and one not to be trifled with," Mrs. Ranger added seriously. "Yes, I know; but really I cannot help laughing when I see what long faces the men put on if they want to tell a woman they love her." "Well, that may be because they feel how very serious are the consequences of such an act." "Bother the seriousness! I don’t believe that enters into their minds. They are too frequently wondering what sort of figure they will cut if the woman or girl should happen to say ’No’ to them." "That’s not the case with all of them." "It may not be, but it is with most of them." "I’m afraid you are rather cynical, Mary." "Well, I can’t help it if I am." "And I don’t think you care much for poor John." "To tell the downright truth," added Mary, "I don’t think I do, either." "Then, regardless of the man’s feelings, don’t say yes to him unless you feel you can love him." "That’s why I want more time," she replied a little more soberly. Then, after reflecting for a while, she continued, "You know, when I came out here it was with the intention of marrying my cousin; and but for the sad accident which befell us, I should in all probability by this time have been Joe’s wife. The change was so sudden, and his loss comparatively so recent, that really I have scarcely had time to get over it, and to examine the state of my own feelings thoroughly." "I can quite believe you, my dear," was Mrs. Ranger’s motherly comment. "Candidly," she went on, "I do not dislike the man, but I cannot say that I love him; and unless I can bring myself to do that, I shall certainly act upon your advice and not say yes." "Quite right, so far," said Mrs. Ranger; "but your duty now is, not to refuse to see John, nor to play too much with honest love, but to tell him what you have told us; and if he cares for you, as I believe he does, he will see the reasonableness of your request, and be prepared to wait. At all events, try him." "Well, perhaps I will. I think very likely the next time he comes I’ll act upon your advice." The farmer, who had listened with interest to the conversation which had been carried on by the two women, seeing they were on the point of leaving him, ventured to add, "And I think you have come to a very sensible conclusion." "But please, Mr. Ranger," exclaimed Mary, "I hope you will not mention any portion of our conversation to John, if you should see him." "Trust me for that, my girl," he replied. "I shall leave him to fight his own battle; and you may reckon that what has been said to-night is safe in my keeping." *CHAPTER XXXII.* *PREPARATIONS.* "The food of hope is meditated action."—WORDSWORTH. Fellows—or rather Sinclair, as we may now call him, since all necessity for concealment of identity had passed—was not free from some little excitement whenever he reflected upon the change which he contemplated so soon making in his position.