"Well, Ellen, I think now that I love you very dearly; and if I were five years older, and felt as I now do, and you were willing, I would marry you right away; but I am young, and may be deceived, and so may deceive you. Now, Ellen, if I should ask you if you loved me, would you tell me?"
"Yes, Frank," said Ellen, very faintly.
"And do you?" I asked; and, like Brutus, paused for a reply.
"Yes, Frank, I like you very much."
"Is that all? Like, is a very cold word. Do you love me?"
"Yes, Frank," whispered Ellen, leaning her forehead against my shoulder. "I think I do; you wouldn't say any more than that."
"That is all I wish you to say, my dear little girl," I replied, kissing her white neck and shoulders; "now then, listen. I shall return from India in about two years time, if then we are both of the same mind as now, we will begin to talk about the wedding-day. What do you say to that?"
"Yes, dear Frank."
"Thank you, dearest; now look up one minute."
The reader, if he pleases, may supply in this place a few interjectional kisses from his imagination.