"Have you been thinking again of what I was saying to you, Bell?" Bernard said to his cousin one morning.
"Thinking of it, Bernard? Why should I think more of it? I had hoped that you had forgotten it yourself."
"No," he said; "I am not so easy-hearted as that. I cannot look on such a thing as I would the purchase of a horse, which I could give up without sorrow if I found that the animal was too costly for my purse. I did not tell you that I loved you till I was sure of myself, and having made myself sure I cannot change at all."
"And yet you would have me change."
"Yes, of course I would. If your heart be free now, it must of course be changed before you come to love any man. Such change as that is to be looked for. But when you have loved, then it will not be easy to change you."
"But I have not."
"Then I have a right to hope. I have been hanging on here, Bell, longer than I ought to have done, because I could not bring myself to leave you without speaking of this again. I did not wish to seem to you to be importunate"
"If you could only believe me in what I say."
"It is not that I do not believe. I am not a puppy or a fool, to flatter myself that you must be in love with me. I believe you well enough. But still it is possible that your mind may alter."
"It is impossible."
"I do not know whether my uncle or your mother have spoken to you about this."
"Such speaking would have no effect."
In fact, her mother had spoken to her, but she truly said that such speaking would have no effect. If her cousin could not win the
