He turned around on the piano-stool and looked at her. She was sitting upright, her dark eyes wide and startled.
"Forgive me," he said, gently. "The name was Irene, but I put in yours because it rhymed so well."
"But why do you choose such sad songs?" she said. "They make my heart ache."
"Because mine aches already," he answered, impulsively; and, seating himself by her side, he continued, passionately: "Darling Kathleen, I love you, and, unless you will give me your love in return, I shall die of heartbreak, like that poor lad in the song."
She remained perfectly silent a moment, then answered, rebukingly:
"But you are my cousin."
"Cousins often marry," he replied, eagerly.
"But I can not marry you, Chester; I am engaged to marry a young man in Boston. Besides, I don't love you," she replied.
"Do you love him?"