Evidently anxious to know what she would do in aforesaid case, Mr. Fletcher decided to put one before her as speedily as possible, so he said, in a pensive tone, and with a wistful glance: 

“You looked very happy just now when I came up.  I wish I could believe that my return had any thing to do with it.”

Christie wished she could control her tell-tale color, but finding she could not, looked hard at the sea, and, ignoring his tender insinuation, said, with suspicious enthusiasm: 

“I was thinking of what Mrs. Saltonstall said this morning.  She asked me if I would like to go to Paris with her for the winter.  It has always been one of my dreams to go abroad, and I do hope I shall not be disappointed.”

Christie’s blush seemed to be a truer answer than her words, and, leaning a little nearer, Mr. Fletcher said, in his most persuasive tone: 

“Will you go to Paris as my governess, instead of Charlotte’s?”

Christie thought her reply was all ready; but when the moment came, she found it was not, and sat silent, feeling as if that “Yes” would promise far more than she could give.  Mr. Fletcher had no doubt what the answer would be, and was in no haste to get it, for that was one of the moments that are so pleasant and so short-lived they should be enjoyed to the uttermost.  He liked to watch her color come and go, to see the asters on her bosom tremble with the quickened beating of her heart, and tasted, in anticipation, the satisfaction of the moment when that pleasant voice of hers would falter out its grateful assent.  Drawing yet nearer, he went on, still in the persuasive tone that would have been more lover-like if it had been less assured.

“I think I am not mistaken in believing that you care for me a little.  You must know how fond I am of you, how much I need you, and how glad I should be to give all I have if I might keep you always to make my hard life happy.  May I, Christie?”

“You would soon tire of me.  I have no beauty, no accomplishments, no fortune,—­nothing but my heart, and my hand to give the man I marry.  Is that enough?” asked Christie, looking at him with eyes that betrayed the hunger of an empty heart longing to be fed with genuine food.

But Mr. Fletcher did not understand its meaning; he saw the humility in her face, thought she was overcome by the weight of the honor he did her, and tried to reassure her with the gracious air of one who wishes to lighten the favor he confers.

“It might not be for some men, but it is for me, because I want you very much.  Let people say what they will, if you say yes I am satisfied.  You shall not regret it, Christie; I’ll do my best to make you happy; you shall travel wherever I can go with you, have what you like, if possible, and when we come back by and by, you shall take your place in the world as my wife.  You will fill it well, I fancy, and I shall be a happy man.  I’ve had my own way all my life, and I mean to have it now, so smile, and say, ’Yes, Philip,’ like a sweet soul, as you are.”