Yes, dear Mr.Hope, you are so kind to everybody and mend their things, I want you to be kind to me and mend--my prospects for me." Hope's impulse was to gather into his arms and devour with kisses this sweet specimen of womanly tenderness, frank inconsistency, naivete, and archness.
As he could not do that, he made himself extra stiff.
"Your prospects.

Miss Bartley! Why, they are brilliant.

Heiress to all the growing wealth and power around you." "Wealth and power!" said the girl.

"What is the use of them, if our hearts are to be broken?
Oh, Mr.Hope, papa is so unkind.

He has forbidden me to speak to him." Then, gravely, "That command comes too late." "I fear it does," said Hope.