"'Sir,—I regret extremely if anything in my manner has led to a misapprehension of my true feelings. I do not experience for you the affection which alone can make the marriage relation a happy one; so I—'"
"No, no," interrupted Candace, blushing very pink, and pulling the book away from Marian; "that isn't at all what I wanted to ask you about, Cousin Kate. It was—"
"Oh, then perhaps you meant to accept him," went on the incorrigible Marian, again getting possession of one side of the "Manual of Gentility." "Here you are:—
"'Dear Friend,—Your letter has made me truly happy, breathing, as it does, expressions of deep and heartfelt affection, of which I have long felt the corresponding sentiments. I shall be happy to receive you in my home as an accepted suitor, and I—'"
"Cousin Kate, make her stop—isn't she too bad?" said Cannie, vainly struggling for the possession of the book.
"'And I'—let me see, where was I when you interrupted?" went on Marian. "Oh, yes, here—
"'And I am sure that my parents will give their hearty consent to our union. Receive my thanks for your assurances, and believe—'"
But Candace had again got hold of the volume, and no one ever learned the end of the letter, or what the lover of this obliging lady was to "believe."