"I think so," returns he, softly, gazing with dangerous tenderness at the delicate rose-tinted face above him. Then, "Even so, I wish you had asked me; I so seldom go near the place, you would have been thoroughly welcome to stay on in it, had you been the ugliest person breathing."
"So I said at the time, but Aunt Priscilla would not hear of it. I am sure I heard enough about the proprieties at that time to last me all my life. When all arguments failed," says Miss Chesney, breaking into a gay laugh, as recollection crowds upon her, "I proposed one last expedient that nearly drove auntie wild with horror. What do you think it was?"
"Tell me."
"I said I would ask your hand in marriage, and so put an end to all slanderous tongues; that is, if you consented to have me. See what a narrow escape you had," says Lilian, her merriment increasing: "it would have been so awkward to refuse!"
Archibald gazes at her earnestly. He has been through the hands of a good many women in his time, but now confesses himself fairly puzzled. Is her laughter genuine? is it coquetry? or simply amusement?
"Had you ever a proposal, Lilian?" asks he, quietly, his eyes still riveted upon her face.
"No," surprised: "what an odd question! I suppose it is humiliating to think that up to this no man has thought me worth loving. I often imagine it all," says Lilian, confidentially, taking her knees into her embrace, and letting her eyes wander dreamily over to the hills far away behind the swaying trees. "And I dare say some day my curiosity will be gratified. But I do hope he won't write: I should like to see him do it. I wouldn't," says Miss Chesney, solemnly, "give a pin for a man who wouldn't go down on his knees to his lady-love."
This last remark under the circumstances is eminently unwise. A moment later Lilian is made aware of it by the fact of Archibald's rising and going down deliberately on his knees before her.
"It can scarcely be news to you to tell you I love you," says he, eagerly. "Lilian, will you marry me?"