er. This was the delicate meaning which it
amused him to think of. She understood it all, and it brought a glow of
colour to her face; but it did not steel her heart against him. She knew
her Clarence, and that his standard of fine feeling and mental elevation
was not high.

"Look here," he said, "I wish I could speak to you, Miss Phoebe,
somewhere better than in the street. Yes, in the garden--that will do.
It ain't much of a place either to make a proposal in, for that's what
I've come to do; but you don't want me to go down on my knees, or make a
fuss, eh? I got up in the middle of the night to be here first thing and
see you. I never had a great deal to say for myself," said Clarence,
"you won't expect me to make you fine speeches; but I _am_ fond of
you--awfully fond of you, Phoebe, that's the truth. You suit me down to
the ground, music and everything. There's no girl I ever met that has
taken such a hold upon me as you."

Phoebe heard him very quietly, but her heart beat loud. She stood on the
gravel between the flower-borders, where the primroses were beginning to
wither, and glanced over her life of the past and that of the future,
which were divided by this moment like the two beds of flowers; one
homely, not very distinguished, simple enough--the other exalted by
wealth to something quite above mediocrity. Her heart swelled, full as
it was with so many emotions of a totally different kind. She had gained
a great prize, though it might not be very much to look at; more or
less, she was conscious this golden apple had been hanging before her
eyes for years, and now it had dropped into her hand. A gentle glow of
contentment diffused itself all over her, not transport, indeed, but
satisfaction, which was better.

"Mr. Copperhead--" she said, softly.

"No, hang it all, call me Clarence, Phoebe, if you're going to have me!"
he cried, putting out his big hands.

"Grandmamma is looking at us from the window," she said, hurriedly,
withdrawing a little from him.

"Well, and what does that matter? The old lady won't say a word, depend
upon it, when she knows. Look here, Phoebe, I'll have an answer. Yes or
no?"

"Have you got your father's consent--Clarence?"

"Ah, it is yes then! I thought it would be yes," he cried, seizing her
in his arms. "As for the governor," added Clarence, after an interval,
snapping his fingers, "I don't care _that_ for the governor. When I've
set my mind on a thing, it ain't the gover