He loves you not.

He would ruin you.

This is the way with all these court butterflies.

Tell him you hate him, child, and bid him begone." "But I cannot tell him an untruth, mother," returned Amabel, artlessly, "for I do _not_ hate him." "Then you love me," cried the young man, falling on his knees, and pressing her hand to his lips.

"Tell me so, and make me the happiest of men." But Amabel had now recovered from the confusion into which she had been thrown, and, alarmed at her own indiscretion, forcibly withdrew her hand, exclaiming in a cold tone, and with much natural dignity, "Arise, sir.