went on, passion vibrating in
every note of his voice. "I love you, Shirley. I've loved you from
the very first evening I met you. I want you to be my wife."

Shirley looked straight up into the blue eyes so eagerly bent down
on hers, so entreating in their expression, and in a gentle voice
full of emotion she answered:

"Jefferson, you have done me the greatest honour a man can do a
woman. Don't ask me to answer you now. I like you very much--I
more than like you. Whether it is love I feel for you--that I have
not yet determined. Give me time. My present trouble and then my
literary work--"

"I know," agreed Jefferson, "that this is hardly the time to speak
of such matters. Your father has first call on your attention. But
as to your literary work. I do not understand."

"Simply this. I am ambitious. I have had a little success--just
enough to crave for more. I realize that marriage would put an
extinguisher on all aspirations in that direction."

"Is marriage so very commonplace?" grumbled Jefferson.

"Not commonplace, but there is no room in marriage for a woman
having personal ambitions of her own. Once married her duty is to
her husband and her children--not to herself."

"That is right," he replied; "but which is likely to give you
greater joy--a literary success or a happy wifehood? When you have
spent your best years and given the public your best work they
will throw you over for some new favorite. You'll find yourself an
old woman with nothing more substantial to show as your life work
than that questionable asset, a literary reputation. How many
literary reputations to-day conceal an aching heart and find it
difficult to make both ends meet? How different with the woman who
married young and obeys Nature's behest by contributing her share
to the process of evolution. Her life is spent basking in the
affection of her husband and the chubby smiles of her dimpled
babes, and when in the course of time she finds herself in the
twilight of her life, she has at her feet a new generation of her
own flesh and blood. Isn't that better than a literary reputation?"

He spoke so earnestly that Shirley looked at him in surprise. She
knew he was serious but she had not suspected that he thought so
deeply on these matters. Her heart told her that he was uttering
the true philosophy of the ages. She said:

"Why, Jefferson, you talk like a book. Perhaps you are right, I
have no wish to be a blue stocking and desert