The shaded lights, music in the distance, sweet perfumes from the costly flowers about them—everything was just right for a proposal, and Timkins decided to chance his luck. She was pretty, which was good, and also, he believed, an heiress, which was better.
"Are you not afraid that someone will marry you for your money?" he asked gently.
"Oh! dear, no," smiled the girl. "Such an idea never entered my head!"
"Ah! Miss Liscombe," he sighed, "in your sweet innocence you do not dream how coldly, cruelly mercenary some men are!"
"Perhaps I don't," replied the girl calmly.
"I would not for a moment have such a terrible fate befall you," he said passionately. "You are too good—too beautiful. The man who wins you should love you for yourself alone."
"He'll have to," the girl remarked. "It's my cousin Jennie who has the money—not I. You seem to have got us mixed. I haven't a penny myself."
"Oh—er!" stammered the young man, "what pleasant weather we are having, aren't we?"