r afterwards laughingly remarked. But he did not choose that she
should altogether guide the course of conversation. Now and then he took
the reins into his own hands. And it amused him to see how readily she
allowed him to direct matters. She responded to the slightest hint, was
attentive to the least check. Such quickness of apprehension, he argued,
meant only one thing in a woman: not intellectual faculty, but love.

"And you still like the stage?" he said to her, after a time.

"I like it immensely. I can express myself there as I could in no other
sphere of life. People used to advise me to take to recitations: how
glad I am that I stood out for what I liked best."

"What one likes best is not always the safest path."

"You might as well say it is not always the easiest path! Mine is a very
hard life, so far as work is concerned, you know. I toil early and late.
But how can you be so awfully trite, Mr. Trent? I did not expect it of
you."

"A good deal of life is rather trite," said Oliver. "I know only one
thing that can preserve it from commonplaceness and dullness and
dreariness."

"And that is----"

"Love."

A little silence fell on both of them. Oliver's voice had sunk almost to
a whisper: Ethel's cheeks had grown suddenly very hot.

"Love makes everything easy and beautiful. Does not your poet say
so--the man whose play you have acted in to-night? Ethel, why don't you
try the experiment?--the experiment of loving?"

"I do try it," she said, laughing, and trying to regain her lost
lightness of tone. "I love Maurice and Mrs. Durant and hosts of people."

"Add one more to the list," said Oliver. "Love _me_."

"You?" she said, doubtingly. "I am not sure whether you are a person to
be loved."

"Oh, yes, I am. Seriously, Ethel, may I speak to your brother? May I
hope that you can love me a little, and that you will some day be my
wife?"

"Oh, that is _very_ serious!" she said, mockingly. And she withdrew her
fingers from his arm. "I did not bargain for so much solemnity when I
set out with you from the theatre to-night."

"But I set out, Ethel, with the intention of asking you to be my wife.
Come, my darling, won't you give me an answer? Don't send me away
disconsolate! Let me teach you what love means--love and happiness!"

His voice sank once more to its lowest murmur. Ethel listened,
hesitated, smiled. Her little fingers found their way back to his arm
again, and were instantly caught and pres