“Dolly,” he said, “have you never thought--not even _thought_ that you would like to have made a grand marriage yourself?” And though there was not the least shade of a reason for the change in his mood, it was glaringly evident that he was at once rendered absolutely prostrate with misery at the thought. These sudden pangs of remorse at his own selfishness in holding the girl bound to him, were his weakness, and Dolly's great difficulty was to pilot him safely through his shoals of doubt and self-reproach, and she had her own way of managing it. Just now her way of managing it was to confront him bravely, coming quite close to him again, and taking hold of one of his coat buttons. “I have thought of it a hundred times,” she said, “but not since I have belonged to you; and as I have belonged to you ever since I was fifteen years old, I should think what I thought before then can hardly have the right to trouble us now. _You_ never think of marrying any one but me, do you, Griffith?” “Think of marrying any one else!” exclaimed Griffith, indignantly. “I would n't marry a female Rajah with a diamond--” “I know you wouldn't,” Dolly interrupted. “I believe in you, Griffith. Why won't you believe in me?” And the eyes lifted to his were so perfectly honest and straightforward that the sourest of cynics must have believed them, and Griffith was neither sour nor a cynic, but simply an unsuccessful, affectionate, contradictory young man, too susceptible to outward influences for his own peace of mind.