The proposal was wormwood to Lucy.  So she smiled and said eagerly:  “Is that all?  Why, I will do it with pleasure, dear.  It is not like being in the same boat with him for life, you know.  Can you give me nothing more than that to do for you?”

“No; it does not do to test people’s affection too severely.  You have shown me that.  Go on with your walk, Lucy.  I shall go in.”

“May I not come with you?”

“No; my head aches with all this; if I don’t mind I shall eat no dinner.  Agitation and vexation, don’t agree with me.  I have carefully avoided them all my life.  I must go in and lie down for an hour”; and he left her rather abruptly.

She looked after him; her subtle eye noticed directly that he walked a little more feebly than usual.  She ascribed this to his disappointment, justly perhaps, for at his age the body has less elastic force to resist a mental blow.  The sight of him creeping away disappointed, and leaning heavier than usual on his stick, knocked at her cool but affectionate heart.  She began to cry bitterly.  When he was quite out of sight, she turned and paced the gravel slowly and sadly.  It was new to her to refuse her uncle anything, still more strange to have to refuse him a serious wish.  She was prepared, thoroughly prepared, for the proposal, but not to find the old man’s heart so deeply set upon it.  A wild impulse came over her to call him back and sacrifice herself; but the high spirit and intelligence that lay beneath her tenderness and complaisance stood firm.  Yet she felt almost guilty, and very, very unhappy, as we call it at her age.  She kept sighing; “Poor uncle!” and paced the gravel very slowly, hanging her sweet head, and crying as she went.

At the end of the walk David Dodd stood suddenly before her.  He came flurried on his own account, but stopped thunder-struck at her tears.  “What is the matter, Miss Lucy?"’ said he, anxiously.

“Oh, nothing, Mr. Dodd;” and they flowed afresh.

“Can I do anything for you, Miss Lucy?”

“No, Mr. Dodd.”

“Won’t you tell me what is the matter?  Are you not friends with me to-day?”

“I was put out by a very foolish circumstance, Mr. Dodd, and it is one with which I shall not trouble you, nor any person of sense.  I prefer to retain your sympathy by not revealing the contemptible cause of my babyish—­ There!” She shook her head proudly, as if tears were to be dispersed like dewdrops.  “There!” she repeated; and at this second effort she smiled radiantly.

“It is like the sun coming out after a shower,” cried David rapturously.

“That reminds me I must be going in, Mr. Dodd.”

“Don’t say that, Miss Lucy.  What for?”

“To arrange another shower, one of pearls, on a dress I am to wear to-night.”

David sighed.  “Ah!  Miss Lucy, at sight of me you always make for the hall door.”

Lucy colored.  “Oh, do I?  I really was not aware of that.  Then I suppose I am afraid of you.  Is that what you would insinuate? “’