"But not so respectful."
"Quite sufficiently so, however. It is Marian's and my mother's name for me, and I hope will be my wife's also," he whispered. "Oh, dearest, how soon may I claim the right to call you by that sweetest of names?"
"Ah, don't speak of that yet!" she said, hastily, her cheeks crimsoning, her eyes drooping.
"Forgive me, I am very selfish," he replied, "but it must be very soon or not for long weary months, while an ocean will roll between us; to say nothing of the hundreds of miles of land that will separate us besides."
"What can you mean?" she asked, with a start and look of surprise and dismay.
Then he told her of his inheritance in England and the unfortunate necessity it entailed of a speedy visit there. It could not well be deferred till the ensuing spring, and must therefore be undertaken soon if he would avoid the dangerous storms likely to be encountered in the fall.
"And you must go?" she said, struggling to keep back her tears.
"Yes," he sighed. "I cannot tell you how hard it is to think of leaving you just now, or how sweet it would be to call you mine before I go; and to know that, if anything should befall me, you would—"
"Oh, don't, don't!" she cried, the tears coming now in good earnest, "I can't bear it! I—I think you might ask me to go with you."
"Would you, oh, would you?" he exclaimed joyously. "My dear girl, how very sweet and kind in you to propose it."