It was getting dusk now, and Billy seized my hand and kissed it. I was quite indignant until he explained that his motives were perfectly praise-worthy. Then I led him to talk of the rich Miss Blunt to whom he had a letter of introduction, and advised him to present it, and argued with appalling cogency that one ought to marry in such a way as to better one's prospects, and Billy got perfectly furious at such a view of love and marriage--explaining, when I pretended to think he was mad at me, that he knew I was just teasing. And then he began again about calling on me, and seeing my parents, or guardians, or assigns, or _any one_ that he ought to see. "Because," said he, "you're a perfect baby, with a baby's blue eyes and hair of floss, and tender skin, and trustfulness; and I ought to be horsewhipped for sitting here in the park with you in--in this way, with no one paying any attention but Mr. Lincoln, up there." Then I did feel deeply, darkly crime-stained; and I could have hugged the dear fellow for his simplicity--_me_ helpless, with Atkins, and the knowledge of Amelia Wyckoff's letter; not to mention Mr. Lincoln--bless him!--or a park policeman who had been peeking at us from behind a bunch of cannas! I could have given him the addresses of several gentlemen who might have certified to the fact that I wasn't the only one whose peace of mind might have been considered in danger. I grew portentously serious just before I went home, and told Billy that he must see me on my own terms or not at all, and that he mustn't follow me, or try to find out where I lived, but must walk around the curve to the path and let me mingle with the landscape. "May I not hope," said he, "to see you again soon?" "I may feed the elephant some peanuts," said I, "on Thursday evening--no, I shall play in a mixed foursome, and then dine on Thursday afternoon at the Onwentsia--" "Where?" said he, in a sort of astonished way. "I believe I could make you believe it," said I with more presence of mind, "if I stuck to it. But I can't come on Thursday. Let us say on Friday evening." He insisted that Friday is unlucky, and we compromised on Wednesday. This conversation was on Tuesday. "May I turn for just one look at my little wood nymph," said he, "when I get to the curve?" Of course I said "Yes"--and he turned at the curve, and came striding back with such a light in his eyes that I had to allow him to kiss my hand again, under the pretense that I had got a sliver in my finger. I went back Wednesday, and again and again, and sneaked off once with him to an orchestra concert, and it wasn't long before Billy knew that his little stenographer was willing to allow him to hope. But I refused to let him call it an engagement until he promised me that he would present the letter to the other Miss Blunt. "Why, Dolly? Why, sweetheart?" he asked; for it had got to that stage now. Oh, it progressed with dizzying rapidity!