But then came another gift--a book with pencillings here and there, not against sentimental passages, but words that made her think. It was his manner in society, however, that at once annoyed, perplexed, and pleased her. On the first occasion they met in company with others, he made it clear to every one that he was her suitor; yet he was not a burr which she could not shake off. He rather seconded all her efforts to have a good time with any and every one she chose. Nor did he, wallflower fashion, mope in the meanwhile and look unutterable things. He added to the pleasure of a score of others, and even conciliated Lottie, yet at the same time surrounded the girl of his choice with an atmosphere of unobtrusive devotion. She was congratulated on her conquest--rather maliciously so by Lottie. Her air of courteous indifference was well maintained; yet she was a woman, and could not help being flattered. Certain generous traits in her nature were touched also by a homage which yielded everything and exacted nothing. The holidays soon passed, and he returned to his work. She learned incidentally that he toiled faithfully, instead of mooning around. At every coigne of vantage she found him, or some token of his ceaseless effort. She was compelled to think of him, and to think well of him. Though mamma and papa judiciously said little, it was evident that they liked the style of lover into which he was developing. Once during the summer she said: "I don't think it's right to let you go on in this way any longer." "Are my attentions so very annoying?" "No, indeed. A girl never had a more agreeable or useful friend." "Are you engaged to some other fellow?" "Of course not. You know better." "There is no 'of course not' about it. I couldn't and wouldn't lay a straw in the way. You are not bound, but I." "You bound?" "Certainly. You remember what I said." "Then I must accept the first man that asks me--" "I ask you." "No; some one else, so as to unloose your conscience and give you a happy deliverance." "You would leave me still bound and hopeless in that case. I love you now, Carrie Mitchell." "Oh, dear! you are incorrigible. It's just a lawyer's persistence in winning a suit." "You can still swear on the dictionary that you don't love me at all?" "I might--on the dictionary. There, I won't talk about such things any more," and she resolutely changed the subject. But she couldn't swear, even on the dictionary. She didn't know where she stood or how it would all end; but with increasing frequency the words, "I love you now," haunted her waking and dreaming hours. The holidays were near again, and then came a letter from Marstern, asking her to take another sleigh-ride with him on Christmas Eve. His concluding words were: "There is no other woman in the world that I want on the other side of me." She kissed these words, then looked around in a startled, shamefaced manner, blushing even in the solitude of her room.