There is the election——” He laughed derisively. dear. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. They were enormously pleased with one another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously.
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