He gazed for a minute at the rippling blue lake, then broke out: “Can you blame me for being cross? Is it my fault?” She looked at him with wondering eyes. “Why--you don't mean it is _my_ fault, Dick?” “Do you think it is just right to treat me this way, Annie?” “What way do you mean, Dick?” He bit his lip, then looked straight into her eyes and came out with characteristic directness:-- “I don't like to think I've been making a mistake all this while, Annie. Maybe I have never asked you right out if you would marry me. I'm not a college fellow, and it isn't always easy for me to say things, but I thought you knew what I meant. And I thought that you didn't mind my meaning it.” She was beginning to look serious and troubled. “But if there is any doubt about it, I say it right now. Will you marry me? It is what I have been working for--what I have been buying the schooner for--and if I had thought for a minute that you weren't going to say yes sooner or later, I should have gone plumb to the devil before this. It isn't a laughing matter. It has been the thought of you that has kept me straight, and--and--can't you see how it is, Annie? Haven't you anything to say to me?” She looked at him. He was so big and brown; his eyes were so clear and blue. “Don't let's talk about it now. You're so--impatient.” “Do you really think I've been impatient?” She could not answer this. “Now listen, Annie: I'm going to sail in the morning, away around to a place called Spencer, on Lake Huron; and I could hardly get back inside of ten or twelve days. And if I should go away without a word from you--well, I couldn't, that's all.” “You don't mean--you don't want me to say before to-morrow?” “Yes, that's just what I mean. You haven't anything to do to-night, have you?” She shook, her head without looking at him. “Well, I 'll be around after supper, and we 'll take a walk, and you can tell me.” But her courage was coming back. “No, Dick, I can't.” “But, Annie, you don't mean--” “Yes, I do. Why can't you stop bothering me, and just wait. Maybe then--some day--” “It's no use--I can't. If you won't tell me to-night, surely ten--or, say, eleven--days ought to be enough. If I went off tomorrow without even being able to look forward to it--Oh, Annie, you've got to tell me, that's all. Let me see you to-night, and I 'll try not to bother you. I 'll get back in eleven days, if I have to put the schooner on my back and carry her clean across the Southern Peninsula,”--she was smiling now; she liked his extravagant moods,--“and then you 'll tell me.” He had her hand; he was gazing so eagerly, so breathlessly, that she could hardly resist. “You 'll tell me then, Annie, and you 'll make me the luckiest fellow that ever sailed out of _this_ town. Eleven days from to-night--and I 'll come--and I 'll ask you if it is to be yes or no--and you 'll tell me for keeps. You can promise me that much, can't you?”