"I had a reason. I did not wish you to trace me."
"But please, why not, Mr. Shubrick?"
"We might say, it was a boy's folly."
"I shall not say so," said Dolly, tendering the note back. "I daresay you had some reason or other. But I cannot somehow get my brain out of a whirl. I thought you were somebody else!—Here is your note, Mr. Shubrick. I cannot imagine what made you keep it so long."
His hand did not move to receive the note.
"I have been keeping it for this time," he answered. "And now, I do not want to keep it any longer, Miss Dolly, unless—unless I may have you too."
Dolly looked at him now with a face of startled inquiry and uneasiness. Whether she were more startled or incredulous of what she heard, it would be impossible to say. The expression in her eyes grew to be almost terror. But Mr. Shubrick smiled a little as he met them.
"I kept the note, for I always knew, from that time, that I should marry that little girl, if ever I could find her,—and if she would let me."
Dolly's face was fairly blanched. "But—you belong to somebody else," she said.
"No," said he,—"I beg your pardon. I belong to nobody in the world, but myself. And you."