i rode back to tunbridge in the coach, with dorothy at my side and with gerald recumbent upon the front seat,—where, after ten minutes' driving the boy very philanthropically fell asleep.

"and you have not," i immediately asserted—"after all, you have not given me the answer which was to-night to decide whether i be of all mankind the most fortunate or the most miserable. and 'tis nearing twelve."

"what choice have i?" she murmured; "after to-night is it not doubly apparent that you need some one to take care of you? and, besides, this is your eighth proposal, and the ninth i had always rather meant to accept, because i have been in love with you for two whole weeks."

my heart stood still. and shall i confess that for an instant my wits, too, paused to play the gourmet with my emotions? she sat beside me in the darkness, you understand, waiting, mine to touch. and everywhere the world was filled with beautiful, kind people, and overhead god smiled down upon his world, and a careless seraph had left open the door of heaven, so that quite a deal of its splendor flooded the world about us. and the snoring of gerald was now inaudible because of a stately music which was playing somewhere.

"frank—!" she breathed. and i noted that her voice was no less tender than her lips.