Truly love-making has all of human nature in it, from the grandeur of extreme exaltation down to the mere piping of sheerest nonsense; but the nonsense for the time, is just as sweet as any part, so much does it borrow of the rapture of the occasion. There is comedy of a slender sort in it, which it seems a sacrilege to separate from the sacred part, and yet we all are tempted into poking quiet fun at the big, strong men who awkwardly dabble in love's sweet stream. So few of them can come boldly down to the current and at once arrest it and have their will of it outright. "What would you do if you were poor, like Miss Crabb, and had to face the world and struggle for life?" he asked with an absurd inconsequence in his manner and voice. "I can't imagine such a thing," she quickly answered, "I really can't. It would be very, very hard, no doubt. But I sometimes think I might be of more use, that my life is quite empty of real value. I shouldn't know how to do any useful thing." "You might make some one happy. That would be good." "I have no knack; I am selfish, frivolous, intent upon my own happiness," she said, looking up with a bright smile. "Just a word, sometimes, is better than any other alms," he continued. "Eleemosynary cheerfulness and breath of charity, as our good minister is fond of calling it," she responded with a gay little laugh. "I do sometimes try to be agreeable and bright, just to please people." "That's mere social clap-trap, it doesn't mean any thing. It must be genuine, don't you know--come right out from the heart. You must really desire to make some one happy." There was something in the vehemence of his voice and manner that caused her to look into his eyes with a quick change from her careless levity to a puzzled gravity of expression, that would have amused a disinterested observer. "How much would you do to make me very happy?" he went on, speaking as if the question might be one of life and death. "You would like to make me happy, wouldn't you?" "Why do you ask that--what----" Her eyes had drooped and she made an unavailing effort to lift them again to his face. Here was his opportunity. "Because I love you, love you better than all the world, Cordelia," came his hurried response. His arms made a quick initial movement, instantly arrested, for the place was not just suited to any violent demonstrations; then he added, breathlessly: "Do you love me, Cordelia?"