"Provoking girl. I cannot make you understand the state of my feelings. I shall die, Dolly, if you cruelly persist in refusing to be my wife."
"Of love! Gilbert?" This was said with a comical air of doubt, and a half smile, which sent a ripple of laughter over the charming face.
"Ay, lass—of love."
The ripple now broke into a wave of joyous merriment.
"Gilly, did you ever know a man or woman that died for love?"
The lover looked puzzled.
"I can't exactly say that I have. I have heard of such unfortunates—have seen chaps very miserable about their sweethearts, when they were contrary, or were fond of some one else—and have read about it in books."
"Do you believe everything you read in books, Gilbert?"
"To be sure I do—what were they written for else? Do you think that a sensible man would waste paper and ink, and his precious time in printing off lies?"
"I am certain, Gilly, that some books are only written to make people laugh. I am no scholar, and can't read half as well as you, yet I know that much. Do you think the book you were reading out to father the other night—the one you know that you bought of the pedlar—all about the little men and women with the hard names—was a real history?"