"Ye-es, I suppose it has," said Glynne, "but I never think about its being ugly or beautiful." "No, my dear, you don't," said the major half pettishly; "and that's what annoys me. Here you are, as beautiful a girl as well can be." "Am I, uncle, dear?" said Glynne, with the same calm, pleasant smile. "Are you? Why of course you are, and with a splendid intellect, only you won't use it." "Don't scold me, uncle," said the girl, creeping closer to him, "I don't want to be clever, I don't want to know more than I know. I am so happy: why should I change?" The old man's brow grew knotty and corrugated, partly, from perplexity, partly from annoyance, and he gazed sharply down at the sweet face looking lovingly in his. "There, there," he said, "I won't scold you, my darling. Look, there's little Lucy waving her handkerchief before she enters Fort Science. Fine fellow that brother of hers." "Yes, Mr Alleyne is nice," said Glynne, returning her friend's salute; and then, as Lucy disappeared at the curve of a steep path that ran up the sandy mound, they turned and walked back towards the hall. "And so you are very happy, my dear?" said the major, after a thoughtful pause. "Oh yes, uncle, so very happy," replied Glynne quietly. "You and papa both love me." "Oh, I don't know about that," said the major. "I'm not so sure that I do." "But I am," said the girl gently, "quite sure. Then Lucy loves me very much, and our friends are all so kind, and even the servants always smile pleasantly when I want anything done." "Of course they do," said the major, testily. "And it sets me wondering, when people talk about sorrow, and the weariness of the world." "Humph! I suppose so," the major said, stopping short; "and how about Rolph?" "Oh, he loves me too, uncle," replied Glynne in the same quiet, placid tone and manner. "I was going to tell you: he has asked me if I would be his wife." "And you--you have told him you would be?" "Yes, uncle. Papa approves of it, I know; and Robert is so brave and strong and manly. Don't you think it is right?" The major gave his hat a tilt on one side, and scratched his grey head vigorously. "Look here, Glynne," he cried; "you are the most extraordinary girl I ever knew." "I'm very sorry, uncle," she replied. "I can't help being so." "No, no, of course not. But look here--do you love Rolph?" "Oh yes, uncle, very much indeed." "How do you know you do?" cried the major, in the tone of an examiner dealing _viva voce_ with a candidate for a post in the army. "Oh, because he loves me," said Glynne, naively; "and, you see, I've known him a little ever since he was a boy." "Yes, but look here; what makes you love him? Have you no other reason?" "No, uncle, dear," said Glynne; and there was not the slightest heightening of colour, nor a trace of excitement as she spoke. "But, my dear child," cried the major in the most perplexed way, "people don't fall in love like that." "Don't they, uncle?"