in a man's writing: "To the dear little woman whose friendship is worth a fortune."
Another book beside it bore the inscription: "With the love of all the firm, including the boys," and a volume of poems above it was dedicated to the young person "with the high regards and stanch affection" of some other masculine person.
Will Carman pushed aside these evidences of his sweetheart's popularity with his own kind and leaned across the table.
"Alice," said he, "once upon a time you admitted that you loved me."
A blush suffused the young person's countenance.
"Did I?" she queried.
"You did, indeed."
"Well?"
"Well! If you love me and I love you—"
"Oh, please!" protested the girl, covering her ears with her hands.
"I will please," asserted the young man. "I have come here tonight, Alice, to ask you to marry me—and at once."
"Deary me!" exclaimed the young person; but she let her needlework fall into her lap as her lover, approaching nearer, laid his arm around her shoulders and, bending his face close to hers, pleaded his most important case.
