Then she hid her head down on his shoulder and cried.

"Dear--my dear little girl--oh, yes, it would have to happen sometime.
And--he loves you."

"Oh, that isn't the worst;" illogically, between her sobs. "He is coming
to ask you if he may--and I don't want him to come that way. I just want
it as it was before. Polly Upham can't think or talk of anything but her
intended, and it gets tiresome. He doesn't seem so very wonderful to me.
And wouldn't it weary you to hear me praising some one all the time?"

"I think it would," he answered honestly, yet with some confusion of
mind.

"So I don't want it;" with more courage in her voice. "I want good times
with them all. And I don't see how you can come to love any one all in a
moment."

Was he hearing aright? Didn't she really want the young man for a lover?
He was unreasonably, fatuously glad, and the pulses, that were chilled a
moment ago, seemed to race hot through his body.

"It was not quite marriage?" a little huskily.

"He wanted to ask if he might have the right to come, and he said he
loved me, and, oh, I am afraid----"

She was trembling. He could feel it where she leaned against him. He
took sudden courage.

"And you do not want him to come in that way? It would most likely lead
to an engagement. And then I should have to listen to his praises
continually. Yes, it would be rather hard on me;" and he laughed with a
humorous sound.

It heartened her a good deal. She was smiling now herself, but there
were tears on her cheek.

"And you won't mind telling him; that is not _very_ much, that----"

"I think you are too young to decide such a grave matter, Cynthia," he
began seriously. "And you ought to have a glad, sweet youth. There is no
reason why you should rush into marriage. You have a pleasant home with
those that love you----"

"And I don't want to go away. I feel as if I would like to live here
always. You are so good and indulgent, and Cousin Eunice is so nice, now
that she doesn't seem afraid of any one. Were we all afraid of Cousin
Elizabeth? And we have such nice talks. She tells me about the old times
and what queer thoughts people had, and how hard they were. And about
girls whose lovers went away to sea and never came back, and how they
watched and waited, and sometimes we cry over them. And the house is so
cheerful, and I can have all the flowers I want, and friends coming in,
and, oh, I shall never want to go away, because I shall ne