For a moment Wilford’s lip was compressed and a flush overspread his face, as, drawing her closer to him, he replied, “My little Katy will remember that in my first note I spoke of certain circumstances which had prevented my writing earlier. I do not know that I asked her not to seek to know those circumstances; but I ask it now. Will Katy trust me so far as to believe that all is right between us, and never allude to these circumstances?” He was kissing her fondly, and his voice was so winning that Katy promised, and then came the hardest, the trying to tell her _all_, as he had said to his mother he would. Twice he essayed to speak, and as often something sealed his lips, until at last he began, “You must not think me perfect, Katy, for I have faults, and perhaps if you knew my past life you would wish to revoke your recent decision and render a different verdict to my suit. Suppose I unfold the blackest leaf for your inspection?” “No, no, oh no,” and Katy playfully stopped his mouth with her hand. “Of course you have some faults, but I would rather find them out by myself. I could not hear anything against you now. I am satisfied to take you as you are.” Wilford felt his heart throb wildly with the feeling that he was deceiving the young girl; but if she would not suffer him to tell her, he was not to be censured if she remained in ignorance. And so the golden moment fled, and when he spoke again he said, “If Katy will not now read the leaf I offered to show her, she must not shrink in horror, if ever it does meet her eye.” “I won’t, I promise,” Kate answered, a vague feeling of fear creeping over her as to what the reading of that mysterious page involved. But this was soon forgotten, as Wilford, remembering his suspicions of Dr. Grant, thought to probe her a little by asking if she had ever loved any one before himself. “No, never,” she answered. “I never dreamed of such a thing until I saw you, Mr. Cameron;” and Wilford believed the trusting girl, whose loving nature shone in every lineament of her face, upturned to receive the kisses he pressed upon it, resolving within himself to be to her what he ought to be. “By the way,” he continued, “don’t call me Mr. Cameron again, as you did just now. I would rather be your Wilford. It sounds more familiar;” and then he told her of his projected tour to Europe, and Katy felt her pulses quicken as she thought of London, Paris and Rome, as places which her plain country eyes might yet look upon. But when it came to their marriage, which Wilford said must be within a few weeks—she demurred, for this arrangement was not in accordance with her desires; and she opposed her lover with all her strength, telling him she was so young, not eighteen till July, and she knew so little of housekeeping. He must let her stay at home until she learned at least the art of making bread!