aunch and trusty,
like the German. Butler, just then, was praising American buggies, from
which he made a general transition to the customs of society. "In
America, is it not," says he, "the young ladies drive alone with young
men?"

"Yes, very often. But not with you?"

"Oh, no, _mein fraulein_, this is the first time I am alone with a young
lady!"

She had called herself old for so long that there was a distinct
pleasure in being "a young lady" to him, and she had not time to
remember it partook of the nature of deceit, because he sent a wave of
confusion over her by continuing: "In America, also, one would propose
marriage to a lady, herself, before to her father?"

"It is our custom," agreed Margaret, "but"--with her prim teacher's
air--"your custom is far more decorous."

His face fell, then promptly brightened. "Perhaps it would be best to
speak to both, so near the same time one can. But this is another thing
you must explain me. How is it most preferable to the lady, that one
shall write or shall come--"

"Oh, write," said Margaret quickly. How silly of her to suddenly feel so
frightened; she wished that she were in a room and not in a carriage
with him; involuntarily she shrank back into her own corner, and she
found that she was playing with the soiled and frayed edges of a tear in
the cloth of the side-curtain and watching her pearl-colored fingers.
Those gloves she had put on new, that day. How reckless! But she had not
the resolution to desist. His voice dragged a little, "Ah, yes, if she
would refuse, but if--_not_?"

"In any case," said she.

"Look!" he exclaimed, "at the sunset. Ah, is it not lovely?"

Of a sudden they were looking, not at the sunset, but into each other's
eyes; and all about them was that wonderful, transfiguring glow, and it
seemed as if there were nothing in the whole world that he had not said.

"Is it to the right, Herr Captain?" asked the driver, turning on his
seat to divide a benign and semi-intoxicated smile between them.

Then it was hardly a moment until the yellow stucco of the pension
jumped at their eyes, around a corner; and there were the clergyman's
widow and the teacher at the door. They fell upon the carriage in a
clamor of explanation and sympathy; they were at her side when he bowed
over her hand and kissed it, saying, "_Aufwiedersehen_."

That was all. There was never any more. He did not come again. Or if he
came, she was not there, since the next da