't get up, Ellen," the young man said, awkwardly.
"Here--I'll sit down here on the rock." Then he flung himself down
on the ledge of rock which cropped out like a bare rib of the earth
between the trees, and Ellen seated herself again in her chair.

"Beautiful night, ain't it?" said Granville.

Ellen noticed that Granville said "ain't" instead of "isn't,"
according to the fashion of his own family, although he was recently
graduated from the high-school. Ellen had separated herself,
although with no disparaging reflections, from the language of her
family. She also noticed that Granville presently said "wa'n't"
instead of "wasn't." "Hot yesterday, wa'n't it?" said he.

"Yes, it was very warm," replied Ellen. That "wa'n't" seemed to
insert a tiny wedge between them. She would have flown at any one
who had found fault with her father and mother for saying "wa'n't,"
but with this young man in her own rank and day it was different. It
argued something in him, or a lack of something. An indignation all
out of proportion to the offence seized her. It seemed to her that
he had in this simple fashion outraged that which was infinitely
higher than he himself. He had not lived up to her thought of him,
and fallen short by a little slip in English which argued a slip in
character. She wanted to reproach him sharply--to ask him if he had
ever been to school.

He noticed her manner was cool, and was as far as the antipodes from
suspecting the cause. He never knew that he said "ain't" and
"wa'n't," and would die not knowing. All that he looked at was the
substance of thought behind the speech. And just then he was farther
than ever from thinking of it, for he was single-hearted with Ellen.

The boy crept nearer her on the rock with a shy, nestling motion;
the moonlight shone full on his handsome young face, giving it a
stern quality. "Ellen, look at here," he said.

Then he stopped. Ellen waited, not dreaming what was to follow. She
had never had a proposal; then, too, he had just been chased out of
her mental perspective by the other man.

"Look at here, Ellen," said Granville. He stopped again; then when
he spoke his voice had an indescribably solemn, beseeching quality.
"Oh, Ellen," he said, reaching up and catching her hand. He dragged
himself nearer, leaned his cheek against her hand, which it seemed
to burn; then he began kissing it with soft, pouting lips.

Ellen tried to pull her hand away. "Let my hand go this min