“Not here--not here. Come off the path; there’s a seat out there.” Seeing with surprise that her face was pale and drawn with nervousness, and fancying our tramp might have over-tired her, I led her to the place she indicated--a bench set in the deep shadow of a chestnut tree--and we both sat down. “Now, Doll,” I said, gayly, “what’s the tremendous confidence?” “Renny,” she said, quietly, “William Reid has asked me to marry him.” “No! William Reid--the young fellow over at Hansard’s? Well, I can only tell you, Dolly, that I know nothing but what’s good of him for a steady and promising chap, who’s sure to make as fine a husband as he is a workman.” “Do you advise me to take him, then? Do you want me to?” “You might do much worse--indeed you might, Dolly. Why, to my knowledge, he’s drawing £3 a week already. Of course I shall be very, very sorry to lose my little chum and companion, but I always foresaw that this would have to be the end of our comradeship some day.” She sat looking at the ground a little while and adjusting a fallen twig with the point of her parasol. Then she rose and said, in the same quiet tone, “Very well,” and moved a step away. I rose also and was about to resume the subject, when in a moment, to my horror, she threw herself back on the bench and, flinging her hands up to her face, burst into a passion of tears. I was so startled and shocked that for the instant I could think of nothing to do or say. Then I bent down and cried: “Dolly, what is it? What’s the matter? Have I hurt you in any way?” She struggled with her sobs, but made a brave effort to command herself. “Oh, don’t look, don’t listen! I shall be all right in a minute.” I moved away a little space and stood anxiously waiting. When I turned again her face was still buried in her arm, but the keenness of the outburst was subdued. I approached and leaned over her tenderly, putting a kind hand on her shoulder. “Now, little woman,” I said, “won’t you tell me what it is? I might comfort and counsel you at least, Dolly, dear.” She answered so low that I had to stoop further to hear her. “I only thought, perhaps--perhaps you might care more and not want me to.” What a simple little sentence, yet how fierce a vision it sprung upon my blindness! I rose and stepped back almost with a cry. Then Dolly sat up and saw my face. “Renny,” she cried, “I never meant to tell; only--only, I am so miserable.” I went to her and took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Dolly,” I said, in a low, hoarse voice, “I have been a selfish brute. I never thought what I was doing, when I should have thought. Now, you must give me time to think.” “You didn’t know. Renny”--her pretty eyes were struggling with tears again, and her poor face looked up into mine, entreating me not to take base advantage of her surrender--“if I kissed you as you kissed me once do you think it would come?” “It isn’t right for us to try, dear.”