"Haven’t seen many better," replied Barton. "You’d scarcely guess how my thought was then running?" "If you tell me, I shall know without the trouble." "I was back in my childhood, and thinking of that sweet little couplet auntie used to repeat so often— ’Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are.’" "I am sorry that I so rudely broke in upon your reflections. I always turn to the memory of my childhood’s happy days with pleasure and satisfaction." "Bless me, how extremely sentimental we are getting! But I must be going——" "Stay a moment, Mary, I would like to have a word or two with you, if you can spare a few moments?" "What impudence, sir!" "In what way, may I ask?" "Since when, and by what right, have you taken to address me by my Christian name?" she inquired, with a good-humoured smile. "It was a liberty, I must confess, but one which I hope my explanation will lead you to pardon." "Well, if it’s going to take long I am afraid I shall not be able to stop and listen." "I daresay I can manage it in a few words, although it’s a subject I have had no previous experience of. Until I saw you, Mary,—for so I must call you until forbidden to do so,—I never set eyes upon the woman I could say I truly loved. But, from the day you first made your appearance amongst us, the feeling has been growing, until I now fully realise you are that other half I need to make my life complete." "What a very pretty speech. I suppose I ought to feel flattered. For a novice—professing no experience—I think I may say you have accomplished the task charmingly," was Mary’s laughing reply. "Be serious, Mary, there’s a dear girl; for it’s a serious matter to me." "Oh well, Mr. Longface, then I’ll try. To speak candidly, I’ve not thought about the matter, and don’t want to. So there, you have an answer." "But not a final answer, I hope?" he added. "Yes; why not?" she naïvely asked. "I’d rather you’d say you’ll think it over, if what I have said has caused you surprise." "Surprise? I should think it has! Do you suppose for a moment I was waiting for you to come and tell me what you have?" "No, Mary," he replied, feeling a little abashed at the thought that he had committed himself by his answer. "Well then, sir, you had better be content with the answer I have given." "If you give me credit for sincerity, do you think it possible I can be content with such a reply?" he asked, gazing steadfastly into her half-averted eyes, at the same time attempting to take her hand. "You are too forward, sir," she exclaimed, as she snatched her hand away. "Well, take time to think about it, Mary; only give me some little hope.", "As you please, sir, for I must be going." "When may I come for my answer—to-morrow? "Oh, la, no!" she replied; "I shall not be able to make up my mind in that time—that is, if you want a different reply to the one I’ve given?" "A week then?" he asked.