"You're asking me, yet it's Lydia that you really love?"
He quailed a little under the reproach in Marion's voice, under the unfaltering yet not wholly ungentle look in her blue eyes.
"Ah," he pleaded, "truly you must not think that. I suppose it's not a very flattering way to propose marriage to a girl. I wanted to be honest. If you could take me in spite of Lydia, you would make me very happy."
"But what consideration do you offer me?" she said. She looked away towards the lake with speculative eyes; her composure remained undisturbed. "Of course I understand that your house is a large one, and you find it requires a great deal of care, which is annoying to you personally and which you would like to transfer to a woman's shoulders; and you find yourself at times rather lonely, and so you want to marry me! I can see why a wife might appear to you a desirable convenience; but, if you don't love the woman, what, besides your big house and your heavy cares and your name, have you to offer her? Not yourself."
"Yes, myself!" cried Floyd earnestly. He faced her with a sudden ardor. "That is n't much to offer, I know; I'm not witty or clever or especially interesting or handsome; but all there is of me goes to you, if you'll have it. To whom else would it go? Not to Lydia—not the smallest part; you don't think that? Why, when I've been downhearted this summer, isn't it you that I've turned to in my mind? and thought—if you were at hand to brace me up! A man cares a great deal for a girl if he keeps thinking of her when he's in trouble. And I don't feel as if it would only be trouble that I'd be bringing you if you would marry me. I don't think I'm an altogether selfish person. I believe that much as I should like being cheered up by you, it would n't be half so agreeable as feeling that now and then I could cheer you up. It would be a very pleasant thing for me if I knew
