always pick up the
conversation where we dropped it."

"That's just what I find it so hard to do!" confessed young Nisbet. "I'm
a stupid sort of lout, you know, Miss Rathbawne. I've never had half a
chance to practice talking to dames, and where other lads fuss like
experts, I just can't make good. I foozle every stroke. I'm an
ass--that's all!"

"You're nothing of the sort!" said Dorothy indignantly. "You're an
extremely attractive young man!"

"As good as the average in some ways, perhaps. But--how can I explain
what I mean?--there always comes a day when a chap wants to be more,
wants to be the best ever, in every way! That's the proposition I'm up
against now. I seem to be just a bundle of misfits, and--and--oh,
shucks! my line of talk is all crooked, and I can't tell you what the
trouble is, but"--

"Your liver's out of kilter," interpolated Dorothy.

"No, sir!" protested young Nisbet. "Nothing is ever out of kilter
inside me! If I'm nothing else, I'm blue-ribbon boy on the health
question. No, it's something I want, and that I'm pretty sure I can't
get."

"I know perfectly well what it is," said Dorothy, "and you haven't even
asked for it!"

Young Nisbet looked up suddenly.

"Do you mean?"--he stammered, "do you mean?"--

Outside, the front door slammed, and Mrs. Rathbawne's voice became
audible, inquiring Dorothy's whereabouts of the butler. The girl
laughed.

"There's the Mater back again," she said. "Oh, Mr. _Nisbet_!"

For young Nisbet had dropped dish and bread-crumbs into the pool with a
great splash, electrifying the gold-fish into unheard-of activity, and
had risen, at the same moment, to his feet. He stood before her, his
honest face blazing, his hands outstretched.

"I love you!" he said. "Will you marry me?"

And whether or not he received an audible reply to this question he
never knew,--only she was in his arms, and gold-fish might feast or
starve, for all he cared about them. The wide doors of perfect bliss
swung open before him, and young Nisbet passed within.

He was gazing ruefully into the water, as Mrs. Rathbawne entered. For
the first time in his experience, her presence did not embarrass him.

"I've dropped a dish into your pool, Mrs. Rathbawne," he said, "and
scared the gold-fish into blue conniption fits. Look how they are
scurrying around. I hope I haven't done them any harm."

"Oh, no," answered Mrs. Rathbawne placidly. "They are getting _so_ fat
that I should _think