“Then the element of natural affection—­of consanguinity—­has its due weight no doubt, my dearest.  I am your cousin.”

“What of that, man?”

“Everything!  Don’t you know that in this reputable province, called Virginia, blood goes a great way?  Cousins are invariably favorites.”

“You are very much mistaken, sir,” said Fanny.

“There it is—­you girls always deny it, and always believe it,” said Mr. Ralph, philosophically.  “Now, you would die for me.”

“Die, indeed!”

“Would’nt you?”

“Fiddlesticks!”

“That’s an impressive observation, and there’s no doubt about your meaning, though the original signification, the philological origin of the phrase, is somewhat cloudy.  You won’t expire for me, then?”

“No!”

“Then live for me, delight of my existence!” said Mr. Ralph Ashley, with a languishing glance, and clasping his hands romantically as he spoke; “live for one, whose heart is wrapped in thee!”

Miss Fanny’s sense of the ludicrous was strong, and this pathetic appeal caused her to burst into laughter.

“More ridiculous than ever, as I live!” she cried, “though I thought that was impossible.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Ashley gently twined a lock around his finger, and assuming a foppish air, replied: 

“I don’t know whether you thought it impossible for me to become more ridiculous; but you can’t help confessing, my own Fanny, that you doubted whether I could grow more fascinating.”

Fanny’s lip curled.

“Oh, yes!” she said.

“Come—­don’t deny what was perfectly plain—­it won’t do.”

“Deny—?”

“That you were desperately in love with me, and that I was your sweetheart, as the children say.”

And Mr. Ralph gently caressed the downy covering of his chin, and smiled.

“What a conceited thing you are,” said Fanny, laughing; “you are outrageous.”

And having uttered this opinion, Miss Fanny’s eyes suddenly fell, and her merry cheek colored.  The truth was simply, that Ralph had been a frank, good-humored, gallant boy, and the neighbors had said, that he was Fanny’s “sweetheart;” and the remembrance of this former imputation now embarrassed the nearly-grown-up young lady.  No one could remain embarrassed in Mr. Ralph’s society long however; there was so much careless ease in his demeanor, that it was contagious, and so Fanny in a moment had regained all her self-possession, and returned the languishing glances of her admirer with her habitual expression of satirical humor.

“Yes, perfectly outrageous!” she said; “and college has positively ruined you—­you cannot deny it.”

“Ruined me?”

“Wholly.”

“On the contrary, it has greatly improved me, my dearest.”

And Ralph sat down on the trellised portico, stretching out his elegant rosetted shoes, and laughing.