"And you, Mr. Thompson," I said, at
last—"and you——"

"Well, what about me! Do you mean, can
I, too, do this?"

"Yes; can you do it?"

"Why, surely—else I had never proposed
it."

He half smiled at the doubt my question
impllied, and he looked at me as he smiled. Both
look and smile exasperated me.

"Mr. Thompson," I said, excitedly, "I have
not deserved this. Carlo, come here."

My poor shaggy Carlo came forward, wagging
his tail. He laid his head on my knee and
looked up at me wistfully and fondly, as only
dogs can look when they vainly seek to read
the meaning of a human face.

"He was an outcast," I said, looking at Mr.
Thompson; "he was starving; he came to
this door; I fed him, and he would not leave
it. I took pity on him—I gave him a mat to lie
on and a crust to eat. He loves me for it; but,
Mr. Thompson, I am not quite so low as to be
brought to this poor beast's level—I can take
care of myself."

Mr. Thompson threw himself back in his
chair, and uttered a dismayed whistle as I made
this free commentary upon his proposal.

"Well, well," he said, recovering slowly, "I
can understand that you should not care for me,
but I did not expect you would take it so."

"And how could I take it?" I cried. "You
give me pity—I scorn pity. Ah, Mr. Thompson,
if I were not the poor forlorn girl I am, would
you feel or speak so? Do you think I do not
know how rich girls are wooed and won? If
you cared an atom for me, would you dare to
come to me with such language?"

"What language?"

"What did you mean by taking care of
me?"

"What I said. Yes, Augusta, I wish to take
care of you—true, fond, loving care; nothing
shall make me unsay it."

He spoke warmly, and a manly glow rose to
his face; but I would not give in, and I said,
angrily, that I did not want to be taken care of.

"Do let us drop these unlucky words," he
entreated; "and do tell me whether you will
marry me, yes or no. Let it be, if you like,
that I want you to take care of me. I am
much older than you are, you know."

I don't know what possessed me. I said
"No." Oh! how I would have liked to recal
the word, but it was spoken, and he rose with a
clouded and disappointed face. He lingered a
little, and asked to know why it was No and not
Yes? I said we could not be happy together. He
bowed gravely and left me. I suppose he was
hurt, for he did not add a word. No assurance
of friendship, of good will, no hope that I
would relent or change my mind, passed his lips.
The door closed upon him. I heard the garden
gate fall to, and I felt in a sort of stupor. It
was over. What madness had made me banish
him? Every step took him away further from me
—never—never again—should we meet.
Perhaps he would not have left me then, if I could
have spoken the truth. Ah! if I could have
said to him, "I cannot be happy with you
because I love, and you do not; because my love
and my pride would suffer all day long if I were
your wife; because it is easier to do without
you than to have you on these terms." If I
could have said all this, would our meeting have
ended thus? It was too late to think of that
now, but it was not too late to suffer. I buried
my face in the pillow of the couch on which I
was sitting, and cried and sobbed as if my heart
would break.

Poor Carlo's cold nose thrust in the hand
which hung down by my side in the folds of my
dress, roused me. I looked up and saw Mr.
Thompson. He was very red, and seemed
flurried.

"I have forgotten my umbrella," he said, a
little nervously.

Yes; there it was, in the corner, that horrible
umbrella of his! But, instead of going to look
for it, he suddenly came and sat down on the
couch by me. I do not know how I looked,
but I felt ready to die with shame. He took
my hand and kissed it.

"My dear Miss Raymond," he said, persuasively,
"why should we not be happy together?
I cannot bear to give you up, indeed I cannot."

I looked at him in doubt.

"Then do you really like me?" I asked.

"Do I really like you? Why, what else
have I been saying all along?"

"You said you wanted to take care of me."

"Oh, if we are to go back to that——" he
began, resignedly. But we did not go back to
that; we went back to nothing, for a miserable
girl suddenly became the happiest of women.
Still I was not quite satisfied.

"You would not have come back, if it had
not been for that horrible umbrella of yours,"
I said, with a little jealousy.

"Very true," he replied, with his peculiar
smile; "but I did come back, and I glanced in
through the window first, and saw you hiding
your face on that cushion, and Carlo looking at
you as if he thought it strange you should be so
forlorn; and so I came in for my umbrella; and,
to tell you the truth, I had forgotten it on
purpose."

Perhaps he only said it to please me; but as
I looked in his face I did not think so then;
and, though years have passed over us both, I
do not think so now.

     MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S READINGS.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS will read in Glasgow
on Thursday evening April 19th; In Edinburgh on Friday
evening April 20th, and Saturday afternoon April 21st;
and in London, at ST. JAMES'S HALL, on Tuesday April
24th.