conversation with in this case. There was, I began to fear, no common
ground on which we could meet and exchange thoughts, or, at any rate,
words. Then I remembered that ground, common and broad enough, of our
human feelings, especially the sweet and important feeling of love. But
how was I to lead up to it? The work she was engaged with at length
suggested an opening, and the opportunity to make a pretty little
speech.

"Your sight must be as good as your eyes are pretty," said I, "to enable
you to work in such a dim light."

"Oh, the light is good enough," she answered, taking no notice of the
compliment. "Besides, this is such easy work I could do it in the dark."

"It is very pretty work--may I look at it?"

She handed the stuff to me, but instead of taking it in the ordinary
way, I placed my hand under hers, and, holding up cloth and hand
together, proceeded to give a minute and prolonged scrutiny to her work.

"Do you know that I am enjoying two distinct pleasures at one and the
same time?" said I. "One is in seeing your work, the other in holding
your hand; and I think the last pleasure even greater than the first."
As she made no reply, I added somewhat lamely: "May I--keep on holding
it?"

"That would prevent me from working," she answered, with the utmost
gravity. "But you may hold it for a little while."

"Oh, thank you," I exclaimed, delighted with the privilege; and then, to