I could see this readily, by the way in which she tried to put me off, changing the conversation whenever I got on to the forbidden ground, and suggesting various irrelevant queries on my endeavouring again to chain her wilfully-erratic attention down to the one topic that I only thought worthy of interest. The feminine mind, I believe, delights in uncertainty. Girls are not half so anxious to have their lovers "declare themselves," as some ill-natured people would have us think. They much prefer holding on in delightful doubt--that pleasant "he-would-and-she- wouldn't" pastime that precedes a regular engagement or undoubted dismissal--just as a playful mouser sports with its victim, long after the trembling little beast has lost its small portion of life; pretending that it is yet alive and essaying to escape, when pussy knows right well that poor mousey's fate is sealed, as far as any further struggles on its part are concerned. A man, on the contrary, abhors suspense. It is not business-like, you know. He much desiderates a plain answer to a plain exposition of fact or fancy--even when it takes the form of that excruciating little monosyllable "no." Those diminutive arts and petty trickeries of feigned resistance, with which our "angels without wings" strive to delay the surrender of the maiden-citadels of their hearts, are but vexatious obstacles to his legitimate triumph. These, the veteran wooer attempts to carry by storm at once, seeing through their utter transparency:--to the unpractised Damon, however, they assume the proportions of an organised defence. Look at my case, for instance:--I had hardly managed to manoeuvre Min into my selected corner, and to say two words on the subject that occupied all my thoughts; when, she, who had previously condoled with me on the "horrid crowd" that prevented our having "a nice chat" together, as "we used to have last year," and joined in abusing "that wretched quadrille," which had interfered so sadly with our talking, now tried to baulk my purpose of an explanation by every means in her power. Ladies having generally ample resources to suit such ends, it was almost useless for me to combat her obvious resolve. The moment I sat down beside her, what does she do, but, ask me to get her an ice--it was "_so_ hot!" Of course, I started off to procure it, our conversation being stopped meanwhile; but then, when I had scrambled through the crowd in the doorway, making ninepins of all the male wallflowers; had rudely jostled the peripatetics on the staircase; and, literally, fought my way into the supper-room and back to her again with the desired dainty--what do you think was my reward? I assure you, there was the identical, horrible person, with sandy hair and sallow, elongated features--whom I had before routed in the matter of Min's dancing with him,--seated in my chair, chattering away at a fine rate to my darling; and, she?-- Was listening to his sallies with apparent contentment.