didn't want to say "Yes" the first minute she was asked, she simply
couldn't help feeling pleased and flattered and uplifted to the seventh
heaven by the mere fact that he'd proposed.

Some girls never get a proposal at all. I'm really fearfully lucky to
have him look at me!

That's the first time, my dears.

As for the second time--well! I can only go by my own feelings with
regard to Mr. Reginald Brace.

And these are: Well! He must like me dreadfully much to have proposed to
me so soon again. He must adore me! I suppose I must be rather nice to
look at, since he thinks I am "beautiful."

It's very nice and kind of him to want to marry me at once; very
gratifying. But why does he want to take me away from the society of a
whole lot of amusing friends, because he thinks they are "not good
enough" for me?

Is he so much better? Is he? He may have a less Cockney voice, and a
less flamboyant style of good looks than Miss Vi Vassity and her
theatrical friends.

But he can't have a kinder heart. Nobody could. And he hasn't any
quicker wits--that I've seen for myself.

It was magnificent of him to come to the court and to go bail for Miss
Million and me directly he heard that we were suspected of robbery.

But, still----He must have known that we were innocent. Miss Million is
a client of his, and he knows all about my people. I think a good deal
of him for sticking to us. But I should have despised him if he hadn't.
I like him. But, after all, when a girl says she'll marry a man, she
means, or ought to mean, that he appeals to her more than any man she's
ever met in her life.

It means she's sure she never will meet a man she could like more. It
means he's the type of looks she likes, the kind of voice she loves to
listen to, all the mental and physical qualities that call, softly, to
something in her, saying:

"Here! Come to me. Come! It may be to settle down for life in a tiny
suburban villa with one bed of calceolarias in the back garden and the
kitchen range continually out of sorts. It may be to a life of
following the drum from one outpost of the Empire to another. It may be
to a country rectory, or to a ranch in Canada--"

I don't know what put the idea of a Canadian ranch into my head. But
lots of people do marry into them.

"--or to a house in Park Lane, or to a bungalow in India. But wherever
it is, wherever I am, that's home! Come!"

At least, ought one to feel like that, or oughtn't one? I do