May laughed. "Your virtue is not of a difficult kind, Master Willy! You never do any mischief that is quite out of your reach." Then, seeing that Harold looked still crest-fallen, she kissed his forehead, and said kindly, "And Harold will not listen again. He did not remember that it is dishonourable." The child was silent, with his eyes cast down on his lesson-book, for a while. Then he raised them, and looking searchingly at May, said, "I say, Cousin May, I mean to marry you when I grow up." "And so do I!" said Wilfred, determined not to be outdone. "Very well. But I couldn't think of marrying any one who did not know his French verbs. So you had better learn that one at once." Harold's naturally rather dull and heavy face grew suddenly bright; and he settled himself to his lesson with a little shrug, and a shake like a puppy. "No; you wouldn't marry any one who didn't know French, would you?" said he emphatically. "And _I_ know F'ench!" pleaded Wilfred. "There now, be quiet, both of you, and let me finish my letter," said May. And there was nearly unbroken silence among them. Meantime Mr. Bragg was having an interview with Mrs. Dormer-Smith. He had gradually made up his mind to put the same question to her that he had put to Mrs. Dobbs: namely, whether May were free to receive his proposals. He could not help being uneasy about young Bransby's relations with May. Mrs. Dobbs, it was true, had denied that her granddaughter thought of him at all; and Mr. Bragg did not doubt Mrs. Dobbs's veracity. But he underrated her sagacity; or, rather, her opportunities for knowing the truth. She lived very much outside of May's world. She might divine the state of May's feelings, and yet be mistaken as to their object. The story he had heard of young Bransby's having been rejected by Miss Cheffington could not be true; for was not young Bransby a constant visitor at her aunt's house--frequenting it on a footing of familiarity--talking to May herself with a certain air of confidential understanding? He had observed this particularly during last night's dinner. But if, on the other hand, the possibility of Mrs. Dobbs being mistaken on this question were once admitted, all sorts of other possibilities poured in after it as by a sluice-gate, and lifted Mr. Bragg's hopes to a higher level. At any rate, he resolved to take some decisive step. Time had been lost already. He had told Mrs. Dobbs that he was too old to trust to the day after to-morrow; and that was now three months ago! Hence his visit to Mrs. Dormer-Smith by appointment--an appointment made verbally the preceding evening, with the request that she would mention it to no one; least of all to Miss Cheffington. Aunt Pauline was, of course, quite sure beforehand what was to be the subject of their conversation; and was not in the least surprised (although inwardly much elated) when Mr. Bragg broached it.