“There is very good ground for it,” said she, “for he has already proposed to her.  What do you think of that?”

“It makes no difference to me,” said Dick; “that is, if he has not been accepted.  What I want is to find myself warranted in telling Miss Asher how I feel toward her; it does not matter to me how the rest of the world feels.”

“Then there is another,” said Mrs. Easterfield, “with whom she is now on the river—­Mr. Hemphill.  He is in love with her; and as he can not stay here very long, I think he will soon propose.”

“I can not help it,” said Dick; “I love her, and the great object of my life just at present is to tell her so.  You said you would help me, and I hope you will not withdraw from that promise.”

“No, indeed,” said she, “but I do not know her as well as I thought I did.  But here she comes now, and without the young man.  I hope she has not drowned him!”

Without heeding anything that had just been said to him Dick kept his eyes fixed upon the sparkling girl who now approached them.  Every step she made was another link in his chain; Mrs. Easterfield glanced at him and knew this.  She pitied him for what he had to tell her now, and more for what he might have to hear from her at another time.  But Olive saved Dick from any present ordeal.  She stepped up to him and offered him her hand.

“I do not wonder, Mr. Lancaster,” she said, “that you did not want to come back and tell me your doleful story, but as I know what it is, we need not say anything about it now, except that I am ever so much obliged to you for all your kindness to me.  And now I am going to ask another favor.  Won’t you let me speak to Mrs. Easterfield a few moments?”

As soon as they were seated, with the door shut, Olive began.

“Well,” said she, “he has proposed.”

“Mr. Hemphill!” exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield.

“Rupert,” Olive answered, “yes, it is truly Rupert who proposed to me.”

“I declare,” cried Mrs. Easterfield, “you come to me and tell me this as if it were a piece of glad news.  Yesterday, and even this morning, you were plunged in grief, and now your eyes shine as if you were positively happy.”

“I have told you my aim and object in life,” said the girl.  “I am trying to do something, and to do it soon, and everything is going on smoothly.  And as to being happy, I tell you, Mrs. Easterfield, there is no woman alive who could help being made happy by such a declaration as I have just received.  No matter what answer she gave him, she would be bound to be happy.”

“Most other women would not have let him make it,” said Mrs. Easterfield a little severely.

“There is something in that,” said Olive, “but they would not have the object in life I have.  I may be unduly exalted, but you would not wonder at it if you had seen him and heard him.  Mrs. Easterfield, that man loves me exactly as I used to love him, and he has told me his love just as I would have told him mine if I could have carried out the wish of my heart.  His eyes glowed, his frame shook with the ardor of his passion.  Two or three times I had to tell him that if he did not trim boat we should be upset.  I never saw anything like his impassioned vehemence.  It reminded me of Salvini.  I never was loved like that before.”