“Of course I understand that we are to be married,” he responded hastily, “but how can that alter the situation? Dorothy, if we have not found congenial friends in that position in life in which God or nature has placed us, how can we hope to make them in another? Do you not think there may be some deeper reason than simple locality and single blessedness? Would it not be natural to look for the cause in the individual?” “Undoubtedly you are right,” she answered, “but your premises do not apply to my case, for neither God nor nature ever intended that I should live this life. Oh, Paul, believe me when I tell you that I know whereof I speak. Do not judge me as you would another; some day you may know, but I can not tell you now.” She spoke pleadingly, as imploring to be released from some awful incubus which it was impossible to explain. Paul listened in deep perplexity, and swore that the powers of heaven and earth should never come between them. So different was she from any girl that he had ever seen, that her very eccentricity bound him to her with a magic spell. When he had again asked her if Ah Ben would oppose their marriage, or indeed if any one else would, she declared that no human being would raise a voice against it. “Then what is to hinder us?” he asked; “I am poor, but I can support you; not perhaps in such luxury as you are accustomed to, but I can give you a home; and if you are so unhappy here, why submit to unnecessary delay?” He had become impassioned and enthused by the girl's strange influence over him. “True, Paul, there are none to hinder us,” she replied seriously, “that is, no one but--but--” She paused, not knowing how to proceed. “Then there is some one,” cried Paul earnestly. “I thought as much. Who might the gentleman be?” “Yourself!” exclaimed Dorothy, her eyes still fixed upon the ground. “Myself!” shouted he in amazement. “Do you mean to say that I should oppose my own marriage with the girl I love?” “You might,” she answered demurely, casting a side glance up at him, and allowing the very faintest, saddest kind of smile to rest for an instant upon her face. “Well!” said Paul, “I do not suppose you will explain what you mean, but it would be only natural that I should like to know.” “I only mean,” she replied, resuming her meditative attitude, “that you do not know me; that you neither know who nor what I am. If I did not love you, I might deceive and entrap you, but not under the circumstances.” Later they returned to the house. 7