that they will find them there to-morrow. But they reckon without their
tide. To-morrow the sands will have swept as level as ever, and the
little boys will have to begin again. It is like that with our youthful
love affairs, is it not? The tide of time comes up and sweeps them away,
fortunately for ourselves. Now in your case, for instance, it is, I
think, a happy thing for both of you that your sandhouse did not last.
Is it not?"

Madeline sighed softly. "Yes, I suppose so," she answered.

Bottles, behind the curtains, rapidly reviewed the past, and came to a
different conclusion.

"Well, that is all done with," said Sir Eustace cheerfully.

Madeline did not contradict him; she did not see her way to doing so
just at present.

Then came a pause.

"Madeline," said Sir Eustace presently, in a changed voice, "I have
something to say to you."

"Indeed, Sir Eustace," she answered, lifting her eyebrows again in her
note of interrogation manner, "what is it?"

"It is this, Madeline--I want to ask you to be my wife."

The blue velvet curtains suddenly gave a jump as though they were
assisting at at spiritualistic _seance_.