Of course all this was quite beyond Minnie; so she gave a little sigh, and said nothing.

“Now as to Rome,” resumed Tozer.  “Have you ever given a careful study to the Apocalypse—­not a hasty reading, as people generally do, but a serious, earnest, and careful examination?”

“I’m sure I haven’t any idea what in the world you’re talking about,” said Minnie.  “I wish you wouldn’t talk so.  I don’t understand one single word of what you say.”

Tozer started and stared at this.  It was a depth of ignorance that transcended that of the other young lady with whom he had conversed.  But he attributed it all to “Roman” influences.  They dreaded the Apocalypse, and had not allowed either of these young ladies to become acquainted with its tremendous pages.  Moreover, there was something else.’  There was a certain light and trifling tone which she used in referring to these things, and it pained him.  He sat involved in a long and very serious consideration of her case, and once or twice looked at her with so very peculiar an expression that Minnie began to feel very uneasy indeed.

Tozer at length cleared his throat, and fixed upon Minnie a very affectionate and tender look.

“My dear young friend,” said he, “have you ever reflected upon the way you are living?”

At this Minnie gave him a frightened little look, and her head fell.

“You are young now, but you can’t be young always; youth and beauty and loveliness all are yours, but they can’t last; and now is the time for you to make your choice—­now in life’s gay morn.  It ain’t easy when you get old.  Remember that, my dear.  Make your choice now—­now.”

“Oh dear!” said Minnie; “I knew it.  But I can’t—­and I don’t want to—­and I think it’s very unkind in you.  I don’t want to make any choice.  I don’t want any of you.  It’s so horrid.”

This was a dreadful shock to Tozer; but he could not turn aside from this beautiful yet erring creature.

“Oh, I entreat you—­I implore you, my dear, dear—­”

“I do wish you wouldn’t talk to me that way, and call me your dear.  I don’t like it; no, not even if you did save my life, though really I didn’t know there was any danger.  But I’m not your dear.”

And Minnie tossed her head with a little air of determination, as though she had quite made up her mind on that point.

“Oh, well now, really now,” said Tozer, “it was only a natural expression.  I do take a deep interest in you, my—­that is—­miss; I feel a sincere regard and affection and—­”

“But it’s no use,” said Minnie.  “You really can’t, you know; and so, why, you mustn’t, you know.”

Tozer did not clearly understand this, so after a brief pause he resumed: 

“But what I was saying is of far more importance.  I referred to your life.  Now you’re not happy as you are.”