"Mrs. Heron would say you were profane," said Elizabeth, tranquilly. "These comparisons of yours don't please me exactly, Percival; they always remind me of the flowery leaders in some of the evening papers, and make me remember that you are a journalist. They have a professional air." "A professional air!" repeated Percival, in disgust. He let the lid of the portfolio fall with a bang upon the table. Several of the sketches flew wildly over the floor, and Elizabeth turned to him with a reproachful look, but she had no time to protest, for in that moment he had seized her hands and drawn her aside with him to a sofa that stood on one side of the room. "You shall not answer me in that way," he said, half-irritated, half-amused, and wholly determined to have his way. "You shall sit down there and listen to me in a serious spirit, if you can. No, don't shake your head and look at me so mockingly. It is time that we understood each other, and I don't mean another night to pass over our heads without some decision being arrived at. Elizabeth, you must know that you have my happiness in your hands. I can't live without you. I can't bear to see you making yourself a slave to everybody, with no one to love you, no one to work for you and save you from anxiety and care. Let me work for you, now, dearest; be my wife, and I will see that you have your proper place, and that you are tended and cared for as a woman ought to be." Elizabeth had withdrawn her hands from his; she even turned a little pale. He fancied that the tears stood in her eyes. "Oh," she said, "I wish you had not said this to me, Percival." It was easy for him to slip down from his low seat to a footstool, and there, on one knee, to look full into her face, and let his handsome, dark eyes plead for him. "Why should I not have said it?" he breathed, softly. "Has it not been the dream of my life for months?--I might almost say for years? I loved you ever since you first came amongst us, Elizabeth, years ago." "Did you, indeed?" said Elizabeth. A light of humour showed itself through the tears that had come into her eyes. An amused, reluctant smile curved the corners of her mouth. "What, when I was an awkward, clumsy, ignorant schoolgirl, as I remember your calling me one day after I had done something exceptionally stupid? And when you played practical jokes upon me--hung my doll up by its hair, and made me believe that there was a ghost in the attics--did you care for me then? Oh, no, Percival, you forget! and probably you exaggerate the amount of your feeling as much as you do the length of time it has lasted." "It's no laughing matter, I assure you, Elizabeth," said Percival, laughing a little himself at these recollections, but looking vexed at the same time. "I am perfectly serious now, and very much in earnest; and I can't believe that my stupid jokes, when I was a mere boy, have had such an effect upon your mind as to prevent you from caring for me now."