"Will you be my wife, Hyacinth? Do not say 'Yes' unless you love me; nor because it is any one's wish; nor because Lady Vaughan may have said, 'It would be a suitable arrangement.' But say it if you love me--if you are happy with me." He remembered in after-years how what she said puzzled him. She clasped her little white hands; she bent her head in sweetest humility. "I am not worthy," she whispered. He laughed aloud in the joy of his heart. "Not worthy? I know best about that, Hyacinth. I know that from the whole world I choose you for my wife, my queen, my love, because you are the fairest, the truest, the purest woman in it. I know that, if a king were kneeling here in my place, your love would crown him. It is I who am not worthy, sweet. What man is worthy of love so pure as yours? Tell me, Hyacinth, will you be my wife?" The grave pallor left her face; a thousand little gleams and lights seemed to play over it. "My wife--to love me, to help me while we both live." "I--I cannot think that you love me," she said, gently. "You are so gifted, so noble, so clever--so brave and so strong." "And what are you?" he asked, laughingly. "I am nothing--nothing, that is, compared to you." "A very sweet and fair nothing. Now that you have flattered me, listen while I tell you what you are. To begin, you are, without exception, the loveliest girl that ever smiled in the sunshine. You have a royal dowry of purity, truth, innocence and simplicity, than which no queen ever had greater. All the grace and music of the world, to my mind, are concentrated in you. I can say no more, sweet. I find that words do not express my meaning. All the unworthiness is on my side--not on yours." "But," she remonstrated, "some day you will be a very rich, great man, will you not?" "I am what the world calls rich, now," he replied, gravely. "And--yes, you are right, Hyacinth--it is most probable that I may be Baron Chandon of Chandon some day. But what has that to do with it, sweet?" "You should have a wife who knows more than I do--some one who understands the great world." "Heaven forbid!" he said, earnestly. "I would not marry a worldly woman, Cynthy, if she brought me Golconda for a fortune. There is no one else who could make such a fair and gentle Lady Chandon as you." "I am afraid that you will be disappointed in me afterward," she remarked, falteringly. "I am very willing to run the risk, my darling. Now you have been quite cruel enough, Cynthy. We will even go so far as to suppose you have faults; I know that, being human, you cannot be without them. But that does not make me love you less. Now, tell me, will you be my wife?" She looked up at him with sweet, shy grace. "I am afraid you think too highly of me," she opposed, apologetically; "in many things I am but a child."