Max and Evelyn were again sauntering along near the bayou, enjoying a bit of private chat before separating for the night.
"What do you think of Maud's proposition, Eva?" he asked.
"It seems hardly worth while to think about it at all, Max," she replied in a mirthful tone; "at least not if one cares for a trousseau; or for pleasing your father in regard to the time of—taking that important step; tying that knot that we cannot untie again should we grow ever so tired of it."
"I have no fear of that last so far as my feelings are concerned, dearest, and I hope you have none," he said in a tone that spoke some slight uneasiness.
"Not the slightest," she hastened to reply. "I think we know each other too thoroughly to indulge any such doubts and fears. Still, as I have great faith in your father's wisdom, and courting times are not by any means unpleasant, I feel in no haste to bring them to an end. You make such a delightful lover, Max, that the only thing I feel in a hurry about is the right to call the dear captain father."
"Ah, I don't wonder that you are in haste for that," returned Max. "I should be sorry indeed not to have that right. He is a father to love and to be proud of."
"He is indeed," she responded. "I fell in love with him at first sight and have loved him more and more ever since; for the better one knows him the more admirable and lovable he seems."
"I think that is true," said Max. "I am very proud of my father and earnestly desire to have him proud of me."
"Which he evidently is," returned Eva, "and I don't wonder at it."
"Thank you," laughed Max; then added more gravely, "I hope I may never do anything to disgrace him."