"No one," she said, as though the question were nothing.

"It is all blank paper with you?"

"It is all blank paper with you?"
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"Quite blank," she said, and laughed. "Do you know, I almost think it always will be blank."

"By G——! it is not blank with me," he said, springing up and jumping to his feet. She stared at him, not in the least understanding what he meant, not dreaming even that he was about to tell her his love secrets in reference to another. "I wonder what you think I'm made of, Mary;—whether you imagine I have any affection to bestow?"

"I do not in the least understand."

"Look here, dear," and he knelt down beside her as he spoke, "it is simply this, that you have become to me more than all the world;—that I love you better than my own soul;—that your beauty and sweetness, and soft, darling touch, are everything to me. And then you come to me for advice! I can only give you one bit of advice now, Mary."

"And what is that?"

"Love me."