He had never spoken such words to any woman before, but carried away by the strength of his newly discovered passion, they rushed from his lips eloquent with the heart’s emotion. He had a right to expect a serious reply, but to his horror, mortification, and distress, Molly blurted out a curt: “Nonsense!” Her elegant lover gave a gasp as if some one had thrown cold water over him, and a momentary anger struggled with the delicious emotion of love. He lifted his violet eyes to her face full of reproachful tenderness. “Louise!” he exclaimed. She hung her pretty head in bashful confusion. “You did not mean it!” she muttered, deprecatingly. “I did mean it. I do mean it. Do not coquette with me, Louise, when I am so much in earnest. You said just now you never had a lover. You have one now--will you reject him, or will you accept the heart he offers? Will you be my wife, little one?” He felt her trembling as he held her hands tightly in his, and dropping one, he placed his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face so that he might look into her eyes. To his surprise and joy they drooped bashfully, and the warm color rose over her face. “Louise, what are you going to say to me in return for my confession? Won’t you love me a little in return? Won’t you give me some hope?” Was this Cecil Laurens, the cold, the proud, the dignified, pleading to the girl he had disapproved of, the girl he had called such a baby? She looked at him in wonder and consternation. “Oh, what have I done?” she cried out in dismay. “You have bewitched me, I think,” her lover replied with his rarely beautiful smile. “Mr. Laurens, do you really mean it? I--I believed you disliked me, hated me,” she breathed in a low, half-tender tone, very different from her usual mocking one. “I mean it all, Louise. I love you passionately, and I have suffered torments in the last three weeks from pique and jealousy that I mistook for anger. Now, my dear, I have been very frank with you. Will you be as candid in return?” asked Cecil Laurens in a low, winning tone, and with a glorious smile. Certainly although he had learned his love so suddenly, he knew how to play the lover well. She trembled and drew back from him as he leaned toward her. All the sweet vivid color faded from her face, and her dark eyes sought the ground. “I believe you now, Mr. Laurens, although at first I thought you were jesting,” she said, and her voice was distinctly tremulous. “I--I--yes, I will be candid with you. I am--am--sorry--you--care for me--for--it--is--useless, hopeless!” “Hopeless, Louise? Are you sure?” he asked. “If you have no other lover, let me try to win you. Your heart is free?” “No, no, for I love some one else,” she said, desperately. He was very clever, this Cecil Laurens, and at that moment he read the heart of the simple girl as he had read his own as by a flash of light. Smilingly, and with a man’s masterful air, he returned: