I am a rich man, and I have come here to tell you, my darling Rose." "A fortune!" repeated Rose, opening her brown eyes.
"Yes, _m'amour_! You have heard me speak of my uncle in Laprairie, who is very rich?
Well, he is dead, and has left all he possesses to me." Rose clasped her hands.
"And how much is it ?" "Forty thousand pounds!" "Forty thousand pounds!" repeated Rose, quite stunned by the magnitude of the sum.
"Am I not the luckiest fellow in the world ?" demanded the young legatee with exultation.

"I don't care for myself alone, Rose, but for you.
There is nothing to prevent our marriage now." Rose wilted down suddenly, and began fixing her bracelets.
"I shall take a share in the bank with my father," pursued the young man; "and I shall speak to your father to-morrow for his consent to our union!" Rose still twitched her bracelets, her colour coming and going.

She could see Reginald Stanford without looking up; and never had he been so handsome in her eyes; never had she loved him as she loved him now.
"You say nothing, Rose," said her lover.

"_Mon Dieu!_ you cannot surely love me less!" "Hush!" said Rose, rather sharply, "they will hear you.

It isn't that, but--but I don't want to be married just yet.