“Yes--that’s good!” he said. “‘Dear Professor’ is very good! And after that, what next?” “After that, just this,” said Diana. “That I thank you for your kind and generous offer with all my heart! Still more do I thank you for saying you have grown fond of me! Nobody has said that for years! But I will not do you such wrong as to take advantage of your goodness to a woman you know nothing of--not, at any rate, till you know something more! And,--to be quite honest with you--I don’t think I have it in my heart to love any man now!” The Professor took the hand that rested on his arm and patted it encouragingly. “My dear lady, I am not asking for love!” he said. “I would not do such an absurd thing for the world! Love is the greatest delusion of the ages,--one of the ‘springes to catch woodcocks,’ as your Shakespeare says. I don’t want it,--I never had it, and don’t expect it. I merely ask for permission to take care of you and make you as happy as I can for the rest of my life. I should like to do that!--I should indeed! The stupid and conventional world will not allow me to do it without scandal, unless I marry you--therefore I ask you to go through this form with me. I would not be selfish,--I would respect you in every way----” He broke off--and to close an embarrassing sentence gently kissed the hand he held. Tears stood in Diana’s eyes. “Oh, you are good, you are good!” she murmured. “And I feel so ungrateful because I cannot please you by at once saying ‘yes!’ But I should feel worse than ungrateful if I did--because it would be unfair to you!--it would, really! And yet----” “Don’t say an absolute ‘No,’ my dear!” interrupted the Professor, hastily. “Take time! I’ll give you as long as you like--and live in hope!” She smiled, though her eyes were wet. Her thoughts were all in a whirl. How had it chanced that she, so long content to be considered “an old maid,” should now receive an offer of marriage? Had she a right to refuse it? Professor Chauvet was a distinguished man of science, well known in Paris; his wife would occupy a position of dignity and distinction. Her _salon_ would be filled with men of mark and women of high social standing. And he “had grown fond of her” he said. That was the best and most wonderful thing of all! That anyone should be “fond” of her seemed to poor, lonely Diana the opening of the gates of Paradise. “May I--may I----” she faltered, presently. “You may do anything!” replied Chauvet, soothingly. “You may even box my ears, if it will relieve your feelings!” She laughed, and looked up at him. It was a kind, rugged, clever face she saw--plain, but shrewd, and though marked like a map with lines of thought and care, not without character and impressiveness. “I was rude to you the first night we met!” she said, irrelevantly. “So was I to you,” he responded. “And you got the better of me. That’s probably why I like you!” She hesitated again. Then: “May I wait----”