It is very discomposing to the feelings to make love in the presence of a third party; and Sir Norman had no intention of wasting his time on anything, and went at it immediately. Taking her hand, with a grace that would have beaten Sir Charles Grandison or Lord Chesterfield all to nothing, he led her to a couch, and took a seat as near her as was at all polite or proper, considering the brief nature of their acquaintance. The curtains were drawn; the lamp shed a faint light; the house was still, and there was no intrusive papa to pounce down upon them; the lady was looking down, and seemed in no way haughty or discouraging, and Sir Norman's spirits went up with a jump to boiling-point. Yet the lady, with all her pretty bashfulness, was the first to speak. “I'm afraid, Sir Norman, you must think this a singular hour to come here; but, in these dreadful times, we cannot tell if we may live from one moment to another; and I should not like to die, or have you die, without my telling, and you hearing, all my gratitude. For I do assure you, Sir Norman,” said the lady, lifting her dark eyes with the prettiest and most bewitching earnestness, “that I am grateful, though I cannot find words to express it.” “Madame, I would not listen to you if you would; for I have done nothing to deserve thanks. I wish I could tell you what I felt when Ormiston told me you were alive and safe.” “You are very kind, but pray do not call me madame. Say Leoline!” “A thousand thanks, dear Leoline!” exclaimed Sir Norman, raising her hand to his lips, and quite beside himself with ecstasy. “Ah, I did not tell you to say that!” she cried, with a gay laugh and vivid blush. “I never said you were to call me dear.” “It arose from my heart to my lips,” said Sir Norman, with thrilling earnestness and fervid glance; “for you are dear to me--dearer than all the world beside!” The flush grew a deeper glow on the lady's face; but, singular to relate, she did not look the least surprised or displeased; and the hand he had feloniously purloined lay passive and quite contented in his. “Sir Norman Kingsley is pleased to jest,” said the lady, in a subdued tone, and with her eyes fixed pertinaciously on her shining dress; “for he has never spoken to me before in his life!” “That has nothing to do with it, Leoline. I love you as devotedly as if I had known you from your birthday; and, strange to say, I feel as if we had been friends for years instead of minutes. I cannot realize at all that you are a stranger to me!” Leoline laughed: “Nor I; though, for that matter, you are not a stranger to me, Sir Norman!” “Am I not? How is that!” “I have seen you go past so often, you know; and Prudence told me who you were; and so I need--I used--” hesitating and glowing to a degree before which her dress paled. “Well, dearest,” said Sir Norman, getting from the positive to the superlative at a jump, and diminishing the distance between them, “you need to--what?”