expects a girl to be a little--er--sentimental
and poetic, and--er--overcome, don't you know, not to begin at once to
talk of _how much a head_!"

"I've never been proposed to before. You must excuse me if I make
mistakes. I'm quite willing to be sentimental; I dote upon sentiment,"
declared Pixie in anxious propitiation. ... "Let's go back to where you
were talking about me! Tell me _exactly_ what it is that you most
admire?"

Stanor had been hoping for a little adulation for himself, but he
gallantly stifled his feelings and proceeded to offer the incense which
he believed would be most acceptable.

"Your character, darling. Your sweet and tender heart!"

"How nice," said Pixie flatly. She sat silent for a moment and then
ventured tentatively, "_Not_ my personal charm?"

"_And_ your personal charm. Both! You've more personal charm than any
girl I know."

This was something like! Pixie beamed content. At this moment she felt
really "engaged," and agreed rapturously with all the encomiums which
she had heard given to this happy condition. Success emboldened her to
further flights.

"The first time you met me you didn't admire me then! My _appearance_,
I mean! You remember you said--"

"I did. Yes! But you were so sweet in forgiving me that I admired you
instantly for _that_!" cried Stanor, skilfully turning the subject to
safer ground. "And when you're my wife, Pixie, you will seem the most
beautiful woman in the world in my eyes. It is very unworldly of you to
consent without asking more about my affairs, for I am a poor match for
you, little one. It takes years for a man to make a decent income in
business, and I have so little experience. My uncle has always promised
to buy me a partnership in some good firm, but of course there would
have to be some preliminary training. And if he did not ... approve..."

"But he _must_ approve; we must make him. We couldn't marry without his
consent. He's been so good to you!"

"He has, uncommonly good; but when it comes to marrying, it's a fellow's
own affair. I shall go my own way..."

"He's lame!"

"Dear little girl, what has that to do with the case in point?"

"Well, I think it has!" persisted Pixie obstinately. "It has to me. We
must be nice to him, Stanor, and _make_ him be pleased, whether he wants
to or not. ... Did you notice how naturally I called you `Stanor'?"

"I did! Couldn't you manage to put something before it by way, of