“I expect you will marry a literary woman some day,” June said, mockingly. “She will probably have a mole on her chin.”
“Well, there is no mole here,” he said, looking closely at June, and starting to kiss the pretty lips.
“Not yet,” she said, drawing away, “wait until you 173 know all about my faults and, perhaps, you will change your mind.”
“I know my own mind now, as well as I shall ever know it,” Guy said, in a sober tone. “But I am willing to wait your decision, and I shall wait, June, a lifetime if necessary.”
“It will not take a lifetime to find the defects in my nature,” she said pleasantly.
“Do you bid me remain away?” he asked, as he neared the door.
“Certainly not. In that case I shall not be able to study your character.”
“Good night,” he said, pressing her hands, then he left the room.
The Spring had come again. Scott sat in his office with a huge pile of letters before him. He had been enabled to secure the services of a boy who had come well recommended, and who proved to be good and trusty, “but he never could fill the place of Paul,” Scott said. If Paul were only here he would not be obliged to attend to so much corresponding. He really wondered how he could live without that boy. He had been gone since February and it was now the month of May. How long the time seemed and to-day was the first that Scott had heard from him. He had the letter before him. It ran thus: