bring."

"Oh yes, on the plane of the Ten Commandments." The girl smiled
unhappily.

"But precious, he loves Arthur deeply, and thinks the world of him."

"Mother, what is it like, to love deeply?"

The query was ignored. "And the old gentleman is fond of you,
sweetheart."

"Oh, he likes me. What a tame old invalid that word 'fond' has grown to
be! You can be fond of two or three persons at once, nowadays. My soul!
I wish I were fond of Arthur Winslow in the old mad way the word meant
when it was young!"

"Pshaw, dearie! you'll be fond enough of him, once you're his. He's
brilliant, upright, loving and lovable. You see, and say, he is so, and
I know your fondness will grow with every day and every experience,
happy or bitter."

"Yes.... Yes, I could not endure not to give my love bountifully
wherever it rightly belongs. But oh, I wish I had it ready to-day,--a
fondness to match his!"

"Now, Isabel! Why, pet, thousands of happy and loving wives will tell
you"--

"Oh, I know what they will tell me."

"They'll not tell you they get along without love, dearie. But ten years
from now, my daughter, not how fond you were when you first joined
hands, but what you have"--

"Oh yes,--been to each other, done for each other, borne from each
other, will be the true measure. Oh, of course it will; but there's so
much in the right start!"

"Beyond doubt! Understand me, precious: if you have the least ground to
fear"--

"Mother! mother! No! no! What! afraid I may love some one else? Never!
never! Oh, without boasting, and knowing what I am as well as Leonard
Byington knows"--

"Oh, pshaw! Leonard Byington!"

"He knows me, mother,--as if he lived at a higher window that looked
down into my back yard." The speaker smiled.

"Then he knows," exclaimed the mother, "you're true gold!"

"Yes, but a light coin."

"My pet! He knows you're the tenderest, gentlest dear he ever saw."

"But neither brave nor strong."

"Oh, you not brave! you not strong! You're the lovingest, truest"--

"Only inclined to be a bit too hungry after sympathy, dear."

"You never bid for it, love, never."

"Well, no matter; I shall never love any one but myself too much. I
think I shall some day love Arthur as I wish I could love him now. I
never did really love Leonard,--I couldn't; I haven't the stature. That
was my trouble, dearie: I hadn't the stature. I never shall have; and if
it's he you are thinking of, you are wasting your dear,