“Shirley, I can read your thoughts.  You were thinking of me.”

She was startled for a moment but immediately recovered her self possession.  It never occurred to her to deny it.  She pondered for a moment and then replied: 

“You are right, Jeff, I was thinking of you.  How did you guess?”

He leaned over her chair and took her hand.  She made no resistance.  Her delicate, slender hand lay passively in his big brown one and met his grasp frankly, cordially.  He whispered: 

“What were you thinking of me—­good or bad?”

“Good, of course.  How could I think anything bad of you?”

She turned her eyes on him in wonderment.  Then she went on: 

“I was wondering how a girl could distinguish between the feeling she has for a man she merely likes, and the feeling she has for a man she loves.”

Jefferson bent eagerly forward so as to lose no word that might fall from those coveted lips.

“In what category would I be placed?” he asked.

“I don’t quite know,” she answered, laughingly.  Then seriously, she added:  “Jeff, why should we act like children?  Your actions, more than your words, have told me that you love me.  I have known it all along.  If I have appeared cold and indifferent it is because”—­she hesitated.

“Because?” echoed Jefferson anxiously, as if his whole future depended on that reason.

“Because I was not sure of myself.  Would it be womanly or honourable on my part to encourage you, unless I felt I reciprocated your feelings?  You are young, one day you will be very rich, the whole world lies before you.  There are plenty of women who would willingly give you their love.”

“No—­no!” he burst out in vigorous protest, “it is you I want, Shirley, you alone.”

Grasping her hand more closely, he went on, passion vibrating in every note of his voice.  “I love you, Shirley.  I’ve loved you from the very first evening I met you.  I want you to be my wife.”

Shirley looked straight up into the blue eyes so eagerly bent down on hers, so entreating in their expression, and in a gentle voice full of emotion she answered: 

“Jefferson, you have done me the greatest honour a man can do a woman.  Don’t ask me to answer you now.  I like you very much—­I more than like you.  Whether it is love I feel for you—­that I have not yet determined.  Give me time.  My present trouble and then my literary work—–­”

“I know,” agreed Jefferson, “that this is hardly the time to speak of such matters.  Your father has first call on your attention.  But as to your literary work.  I do not understand.”

“Simply this.  I am ambitious.  I have had a little success—­just enough to crave for more.  I realize that marriage would put an extinguisher on all aspirations in that direction.”

“Is marriage so very commonplace?” grumbled Jefferson.

“Not commonplace, but there is no room in marriage for a woman having personal ambitions of her own.  Once married her duty is to her husband and her children—­not to herself.”