I inclined to believe I ever should be willing to go to the
lengths of which you speak, I should assuredly want time for the
maturest reflection. In the first place, I know almost nothing about
you. One would not engage a--a coachman--without more inquiry. How can a
girl promise to trust her entire future to a man with whom she has but a
casual acquaintance? Such things need consideration. I know my father
would say so. And if he heard only the nicest things about you, I doubt
if he would like to have you take me from him--especially now, when his
heart is heavy and he leans so much on my love and care. No, you are in
too great haste."

His impatience grew to boiling heat as he listened. How could she find
so many reasons, and (he was obliged to confess) such sensible ones, to
bring against him?

"There is one thing you _can_ do," he said, with an attitude of deep
dejection. "You can tell me if you love me."

She tossed her head with a feminine movement that was wholly charming.

"Yes, I could tell you that, but it would be a very improper thing,
under the circumstances, provided I was able to give you the answer you
seem to wish. If I did care for you, would I like to say so in definite
words when anything further might turn out to be impossible? A girl
would not wish to have a man that she was never to marry going about
with the recollection that she said, 'I love you.'"

"Then you can say nothing at all?" he asked sadly. "Shall I be uncertain
whether at the end of my term in purgatory I am to be raised to a state
of bliss or dashed into the Inferno?"

She laughed; a delicious little laugh.

"You are getting hyperbolical," she answered. "There are ten thousand
better women than I."

"But I don't want them," pleaded the young man. "Did you ever read the
lines of Jean Ingelow:

"'Oh so many, many, many
Maids and yet my heart undone.
What to me are all or any?
I have lost--my--one.'"

Daisy replied that the sentiment was very sweet, and added that when a
lover could quote such admirable poetry with accuracy, there was hope
for him. Do what he would, Roseleaf could not make her see that
everything in his future life depended on "one little word" from her.
She persisted that he was misled by the violence of his first
affection, and that if he would only let a month or two pass he would
discover that his pulse would fall off a number of beats to the minute.

"And is that what you want?" he as