I said nothing, however, and after a time Jane spoke: "The dance was
one thing and riding with you is another. I did not wish to dance with
you, but I do wish to ride with you. You are the only gentleman to
whom I would have said what I did about my girth being loose. As to
the new dance, I do not care to learn it because I would not dance it
with any man but you, and not even with you--yet." This made me glad,
and coming from coy, modest Jane meant a great deal. It meant that
she cared for me, and would, some day, be mine; but it also meant that
she would take her own time and her own sweet way in being won. This
was comforting, if not satisfying, and loosened my tongue: "Jane, you
know my heart is full of love for you--"

"Will the universe crumble?" she cried with the most provoking little
laugh. Now that sentence was my rock ahead, whenever I tried to give
Jane some idea of the state of my affections. It was a part of the
speech which I had prepared and delivered to Mary in Jane's hearing,
as you already know. I had said to the princess: "The universe will
crumble and the heavens roll up as a scroll ere my love shall alter or
pale." It was a high-sounding sentence, but it was not true, as I was
forced to admit, almost with the same breath that spoke it. Jane had
heard it, and had stored it away in that memory of hers, so tenacious
in holding to everything it should forget. It is wonderful what a fund
of useless information some persons accumulate and cling to with a
persistent determination worthy of a better cause. I thought Jane
never would forget that unfortunate, abominable sentence spoken so
grandiloquently to Mary. I wonder what she would have thought had she
known that I had said substantially the same thing to a dozen others.
I never should have won her in that case. She does not know it yet,
and never shall if I can prevent. Although dear Jane is old now, and
the roses on her cheeks have long since paled, her gray eyes are still