Polly was, perhaps, particular. She had not quite approved of the manner in which Ontario had disclosed his love, though there had been something of the eloquence of passion even in that;--and now she was hardly satisfied with Ralph Newton. She had formed to herself, perhaps, some idea of a soft, insinuating, coaxing whisper, something that should be half caress and half prayer, but something that should at least be very gentle and very loving. Ontario was loving, but he was not gentle. Ralph Newton was gentle, but then she doubted whether he was loving. "Will you say that it shall be so?" he asked, standing over her, and looking down upon her with his most bewitching smile. Polly amidst her blushing and her trembling made up her mind that she would say nothing of the kind at this present moment. She would like to be a lady though she was not ashamed of being a tradesman's daughter;--but she would not buy the privilege of being a lady at too dear a price. The price would be very high indeed were she to give herself to a man who did not love her, and perhaps despised her. And then she was not quite sure that she could love this man herself, though she was possessed of a facility for liking nice young men. Ralph Newton was well enough in many ways. He was good looking, he could speak up for himself, he did not give himself airs,--and then, as she had been fully instructed by her father, he must ultimately inherit a large property. Were she to marry him her position would be absolutely that of one of the ladies of the land. But then she knew,--she could not but know,--that he sought her because he was in want of money for his present needs. To be made a lady of the land would be delightful; but to have a grand passion,--in regard to which Polly would not be satisfied unless there were as much love on one side as on the other,--would be more delightful. That latter was essentially necessary to her. The man must take an absolute pleasure in her company, or the whole thing would be a failure. So she blushed and trembled, and thought and was silent. "Dear Polly, do you mean that you cannot love me?" said Ralph. "I don't know," said Polly. "Will you try?" demanded Ralph. "And I don't know that you can love me." "Indeed, indeed, I can." "Ah, yes;--you can say so, I don't doubt. There's a many of them as can say so, and yet it's not in 'em to do it. And there's men as don't know hardly how to say it, and yet it's in their hearts all the while." Polly must have been thinking of Ontario as she made this latter oracular observation. "I don't know much about saying it; but I can do it, Polly." "Oh, as for talking, you can talk. You've been brought up that way. You've had nothing else much to do." She was very hard upon him, and so he felt it. "I think that's not fair, Polly. What can I say to you better than that I love you, and will be good to you?" "Oh, good to me! People are always good to me. Why shouldn't they?"