As for the second time--well! I can only go by my own feelings with regard to Mr. Reginald Brace. And these are: Well! He must like me dreadfully much to have proposed to me so soon again. He must adore me! I suppose I must be rather nice to look at, since he thinks I am "beautiful." It's very nice and kind of him to want to marry me at once; very gratifying. But why does he want to take me away from the society of a whole lot of amusing friends, because he thinks they are "not good enough" for me? Is he so much better? Is he? He may have a less Cockney voice, and a less flamboyant style of good looks than Miss Vi Vassity and her theatrical friends. But he can't have a kinder heart. Nobody could. And he hasn't any quicker wits--that I've seen for myself. It was magnificent of him to come to the court and to go bail for Miss Million and me directly he heard that we were suspected of robbery. But, still----He must have known that we were innocent. Miss Million is a client of his, and he knows all about my people. I think a good deal of him for sticking to us. But I should have despised him if he hadn't. I like him. But, after all, when a girl says she'll marry a man, she means, or ought to mean, that he appeals to her more than any man she's ever met in her life. It means she's sure she never will meet a man she could like more. It means he's the type of looks she likes, the kind of voice she loves to listen to, all the mental and physical qualities that call, softly, to something in her, saying: "Here! Come to me. Come! It may be to settle down for life in a tiny suburban villa with one bed of calceolarias in the back garden and the kitchen range continually out of sorts. It may be to a life of following the drum from one outpost of the Empire to another. It may be to a country rectory, or to a ranch in Canada--" I don't know what put the idea of a Canadian ranch into my head. But lots of people do marry into them. "--or to a house in Park Lane, or to a bungalow in India. But wherever it is, wherever I am, that's home! Come!" At least, ought one to feel like that, or oughtn't one? I don't know. Life and love are very complicated and confusing matters--especially love. I told Mr. Brace so. This was just as we were rising from the luncheon-table. I said hurriedly: "I can't answer you. I really must have more time to think it over." His fair Puritan's face fell at this, and he looked at me reproachfully. "More time?" he said discontentedly. "More time still?" "Yes. I--I'm sure it's most important," I said earnestly. "Everybody ought to have lots and lots of time to think it over before they dream of getting engaged. I'm sure that's the right thing."