her which had grown in me during that half hour. Lonely, sad,
unlucky as I had been all my life, I was certainly not timid, nor
even shy. But to propose to marry a woman after half an hour's
acquaintance was a piece of madness of which I never believed
myself capable, and of which I should never be capable again, could
I be placed in the same situation. It was as though my whole being
had been changed in a moment by magic--by the white magic of her
nature brought into contact with mine. The blood sank back to my
heart, and a moment later I found myself staring at her with
anxious eyes. To my amazement she was as calm as ever, but her
beautiful mouth smiled, and there was a mischievous light in her
dark-brown eyes.

"Fairly caught," she answered. "For an individual who pretends to
be listless and sad you are not lacking in humor. I had really not
the least idea what you were going to say. Wouldn't it be
singularly awkward for you if I had said 'Yes'? I never saw
anybody begin to practice so sharply what was preached to him--with
so very little loss of time!"

"You probably never met a man who had dreamed of you for seven
months before being introduced."

"No, I never did," she answered gayly. "It smacks of the romantic.
Perhaps you are a romantic character, after all. I should think
you were if I believed you. Very well; you have taken my advice,
entered for a Stranger's Race and lost it. Try the All-aged Trial
Stakes. You have another cuff, and a pencil. Propose to Aunt
Bluebell; she would dance with astonishment, and she might recover
her hearing."