. I remembered that down by the river, just beyond
the willows, there was an old tree where Sylvia and I--ah, so
many years ago!--had sat and talked of our lives before us. To
that sacred spot I would lead Sylvia's daughter, and, passing
gently from the past to the present, I would tell her of my love
and of my fondest hopes. How dignified and appropriate such a
spot for a frank, calm, and self-contained avowal!

Thus philosophically and amiably plotting I walked contentedly
along, and, looking up, I saw Phyllis coming toward me, swinging
her hat in her hand, and suggesting in her girlish beauty and
graceful outline the poet's shepherdess. She did not see me, and,
yielding to a sudden impulse, I stepped quickly aside in the
shadow of a neighbor's house, as she passed on with her eyes on
the ground. I followed at a little distance, and discovered,
much to my dismay, that she chose the road that led to the
burying-ground. Now a cemetery is not at all the spot that a man,
whatever his philosophy, would select for a tender declaration,
but I was buoyed by the remembrance of Mary's words. "The finger
of Providence may be in it," I muttered. "The Lord's will be
done."

Slowly up the winding path she walked, and I as slowly followed.
When I reached her, she was standing at her mother's grave, just
as she had stood the morning we first met. I tried to accept this
as an omen, but failed miserably, and omens, after all, depend on
the point of view. She raised her eyes, and, seeing me, blushed,
another omen which means comparatively little to a man who is
aware of the thousand emotions that are responsible for the blush
of woman. I was again annoyed by the discovery that my pulses
were not beating wildly, and that my heart was not throbbing
tumultuously, and when I addressed a commonplace remark to her I
was thoroughly ashamed and humiliated. It seemed like taking a
mean advantage of innocence and inexperience.

We sat together on the little bench, and for the first time in
our acquaintance she appeared embarrassed, as if she knew what
was passing in my mind. I have always believed that women, in
addition to their acknowledged intuition, have a special sense
that enables them to anticipate a declaration of passion, and I
had no doubt that Phyllis was fully prepared for my confession in
spite of her embarrassment. This induced me to proceed to the
point without unnecessary preliminaries.

"Phyllis," I said, not without a cer