"Oh, of course, dear Granny thinks no one could be too good for me," said May apologetically. "But she knows his worth." "Will you please tell me how long Mrs. Dobbs has known of this?" asked Mr. Bragg, with a touch of sternness. "Known? She knew, of course, as soon as I knew myself--on the twenty-seventh of last September," answered poor May, with damask-rose cheeks. Mr. Bragg made a mental calculation of dates. His face relaxed; and he now replied to May's previous question. "Yes, of course, I'll promise not to say a word till you give me leave. Especially since Mrs. Dobbs knows all about it. Otherwise, you're young to guide yourself entirely in a matter so serious as this is." She thanked him again, and dried some stray tear-drops that hung on her pretty eyelashes. He stood for a moment looking at her intently. But there was nothing in his gaze to startle her maiden innocence, or make her shrink from him; it was an honest, earnest, kindly, though melancholy look. "Well," said he at last, "you're not so curious as some young ladies. You haven't asked me what it was I was going to say to you." "I dare say it was nothing serious," she answered quickly. "In any case I am quite sure you will say, and leave unsaid, all that is right." "That's a--what you might call a pretty large order, Miss Cheffington. I'm an awkward brute sometimes, I dare say, but I'll tell you this much: If I don't say what I was going to say, it isn't from pride. I _have_ had that feeling, but I haven't it now, in talking to you. No, it isn't from pride, but because I want you and me to be friends--downright good friends, you know. And, perhaps, it would be more agreeable for you not to have anything concerning me in your memory that you'd wish to be what you might call sponged out of the record. I appreciate your behaviour, Miss Cheffington. You acted generous, and like the noble-hearted young lady I've always thought you, when you told me that secret of yours. Why now----Come, come, don't you fret yourself!" he exclaimed softly, for the tears were again trickling down her cheeks. "You are so--so very kind and good to me!" she said brokenly. "Lord bless me, what else could I be? There, there, don't you vex yourself by fancying me cast down or disappointed about--anything in particular. A man doesn't come to my age without getting used to disappointments, big and little." He took up his hat and stopped her by a gesture as she moved towards the bell. "No; don't ring, please! I've got an appointment in the City, and not much time to spare if I walk it. So I'll just let myself out quietly, without disturbing anybody. You can mention to your aunt that I shall have the honour of calling on her again very soon. Good-bye, Miss Cheffington." May held out her hand. He touched it very lightly with his fingers, and then relinquished it silently. "You are sure," she said pleadingly, "you are quite sure you are not angry with me?"