of the emotions which Constable Maclean had now to unfold. He had broken the ice with the charmer. The butterfly was pinned down with "Urban Love, a trilogy," through its breast. Miss Sanderson had never had time for reading, therefore she was in nowise literary. Thus, perhaps, it was less the merit of the work itself, which must be left to the judgment of scholars, than the force, the audacity, the driving-power of its author which seemed almost to deliver her captive into his hands.
She, it seemed, was its onlie true begetter. The poem was in her honor. Heroica, calm and fair, was the protagonist of "Urban Love, a trilogy," and she was Heroica. The position was none of her seeking, but it carried with it grave responsibilities.
In the first place it exposed her to an offer of marriage. "Urban Love, a trilogy," had broken so much of the ice that Dugald Maclean plunged horse, foot and artillery through the hole it had made. At the moment he could not lead Heroica to the altar; it would hardly be prudent for a young constable of eight months' standing to offer to do so, but he sincerely hoped that she would promise to wait for him.
Galled by the spur of ambition, Dugald Maclean took the whole plunge where smaller men would have been content merely to try the depth of the water.
Miss Sanderson was frozen with astonishment. It was true that "Urban Love, a trilogy," had half prepared her for a declaration in form, but she had not foreseen the swiftness of the onset. This was her first experience of the kind, but she was a woman of the world and she gathered her dignity about her like a garment.
"Ye're no offendit, Miss Sanderrson?" There was
