determined to run down to Croydon and make the proposal at once.

"Well, Margaret," said he, the morning after his arrival, "since it seems we must be married sooner or later, do you see any good in delay?"

Margaret simpered and blushed, and did not know very well which way to look or what to say.

"I say," continued he, "there is no use in wasting time, when the thing must be done—unless, indeed, you have changed your mind."

"Oh dear no, Tom," cried Margaret, "mine is a mind not lightly to be changed—you know that much, I am sure, of me."

"Miss Osborne is to married this day three weeks," observed Tom, "to my friend Sir William Gordon, and he was proposing to me that we should celebrate ours on the same day. I should rather like it, I own, as they are such particular friends of mine, and we are going to the same county. They come down to Osborne Castle for their honey-moon, and we might; indeed of course we should be asked up there on our wedding."

"Oh delightful, Tom," cried Margaret, perfectly enchanted at the prospect, and in the rapture of the view, quite overlooking the coolness of her lover's manner, and the total absence of even any pretence of affection. "I should like that of all things, only perhaps I might have some difficulty in getting my wedding things ready in time; to be sure, as I must wear mourning I should not want much just at first, but a gown and hat—what should my gown be, dear Tom?"

"Hang your gown! what do I know about your gown? or what has that got to do with it; but women always make such a confounded fuss about their gowns and their petticoats. I say, will you marry me this day three weeks?—because, if you will not, you may just let it alone, for any thing I care."

"You are always so funny, Tom," said Margaret trying to laugh; "I never know what you will say next. But you do hurry and flurry one so, asking in that sort of off-hand way—upon my word I do not know what to answer—what can I say to him, Jane—is he not odd?"

"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Watson, do try and persuade Margaret to act with a little common sense, if she has such a commodity in her brain," cried Tom, impatiently.

"Really," simpered Mrs. Watson, "you are the most unlover-like lover that ever I saw—if I were you, Margaret, I would tease him unceasingly for these speeches. I would say him nay, 

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