"Exactly. I do not know. I like you—oh! very much indeed. Sometimes I think I love you, but then a doubt creeps in. Suppose, I say, he has not a soul!"
"Oh, come!" remonstrated the other. "You ought to know better than that. Why, that's pretty near atheism! I go to church——"
"It is not that kind of soul," she explained. "I mean, a sense of adventure—of excitement—in a word, romance! To marry a man without romance would be insupportable; life would be too dull. If only I could be sure that you had romance, I might...."
"Try me," said the practical Henry. "I must say, miss, I don't exactly see what you mean. But I'd do anything to please you. Tell me how to set about this romance idea and I'll do my best."
"You mean that?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.
"Yes," he replied stoutly. "Anything in reason."
"Or unreason? The true romance knows no reason."
Mr. Brown, against his better judgment, but compelled by her attractions, said, "It's a bet!"
After this momentous decision there was a silence. The lady sank back in her seat and began to meditate with a pleased smile. Henry Brown, a whirl of conflicting emotions, looked gaily out into the street. It was depressing to the view, wet, dirty and forbidding; but to him it was the antechamber of Paradise. At last he was by way of realizing his ideal: his frequent failures and persistent struggles were presently to be crowned with fulfilment. In a burst of noble emotion he resolved to give the cabman a sovereign. He turned his head once more to look at his charmer and caught sight of a little white hand lying carelessly on the seat. It suggested a happy idea; and with a respectful tenderness he lifted it and pressed it warmly.
"Oh! you must not!"