think any girl was ever moved by this sort of address, deliberately
uttered, with the words well chosen, well considered? As different as
possible from the abrupt, staccato method used by Dudley in the dear old
days!

"Oh, I'm not indifferent at all!" said she, quickly. "I'm never
indifferent to anything or anybody. But I'm sorry, very sorry that--that
you should feel--"

She stopped short, looked at him for a moment curiously, and asked with
great abruptness:

"_Do_ you feel anything in the matter? _Really_ feel, I mean?
I don't think you do; I don't think you can. You couldn't speak so
_nicely_, if you did."

He looked at her with gentle reproach. His was not a very tempestuous
feeling, perhaps, but it was genuine, honest, sincere. He thought her
the most splendid specimen of handsome, healthy well-brought-up
womanhood he had ever met, and he thought also that the beneficent
influence of the Church, exercised through the unworthy medium of
himself, would mold her into a creature as near perfection as was
humanly possible.

Her way of receiving his advances was perplexing. He was not easily
disconcerted, but he did not answer her immediately. Then he said
softly:

"How could I speak in any way but what you call 'nicely' to _you_? To
the lady whom I am asking to be my wife?"