"Forbes," she interjected.
"I have not had time to read it carefully." (As a matter of fact I had not bestowed a second thought upon the poem, but was ashamed to acknowledge it.)
"When—oh! when can you decide?" she asked with much earnestness.
"To-morrow, I think"—for I fully intended to decline it.
She seemed deeply disappointed. Her lip quivered as she held down her head and her form trembled with agitation. I could not understand her emotion, but, of course, said nothing to show that I observed it.
"Could you not give me an answer to-day—this afternoon?" the girl urged.
"Yes," I said, "as you seem so very anxious, if you will give me your address I shall take or send an answer before four o’clock. Where do you reside?"
"Do you know Forshay’s cottages? They are a long way up Yates Street. We occupy No. 4."
Forshay’s cottages were a collection of little cabins that had been erected on a lot at the corner of Cook and Yates Streets. They have long since disappeared. They were of one story and each cottage contained three rooms—a kitchen and two other rooms. I could scarcely imagine a refined person such as the lady before me occupying those miserable quarters; but then, you know, necessity knows no law.
The girl thanked me and Barclay accompanied her to the corner of Yates Street. He seemed to be trying to induce her to do something she did not approve of, for she shook her head with an air of determination and resolve and hurried away.