“But dear me!” says Tita, putting down the white palette for a moment, “how can I believe you are in earnest? You have only known her three days.” “And that is quite enough,” says Charlie, boldly, “to let you find out all you want to know about a girl if she is of the right sort. If she isn’t you won’t find out in three years. Now look at Franziska; look at the fine, intelligent face and the honest eyes; you can have no doubt about her; and then I have all the guarantee of your long acquaintance with her.” “Oh,” says Tita, “that is all very well. Franziska is an excellent girl, as I have told you often--frank, kind, well educated, and unselfish. But you cannot have fallen in love with her in three days?” “Why not?” says this blunt-spoken young man. “Because it is ridiculous. If I meddle in the affair I should probably find you had given up the fancy in other three days; or if you did marry her and took her to England you would get to hate me because I alone should know that you had married the niece of an innkeeper.” “Well, I like that!” says he, with a flush in his face. “Do you think I should care two straws whether my friends knew I had married the niece of an innkeeper? I should show them Franziska. Wouldn’t that be enough? An innkeeper’s niece! I wish the world had more of ‘em, if they’re like Franziska.” “And besides,” says Tita, “have you any notion as to how Franziska herself would probably take this mad proposal?” “No,” says the young man, humbly. “I wanted you to try and find out what she thought about me; and if, in time something were said about this proposal, you might put in a word or two, you know, just to--to give her an idea, you know, that you don’t think it quite so mad, don’t you know?” “Give me your hand, Charlie,” says Tita, with a sudden burst of kindness. “I’ll do what I can for you; for I know she’s a good girl, and she will make a good wife to the man who marries her.”