Alfred gazed at her, conscious that all his hopes of happiness were dependent on the next few words that would issue from her smiling lips.

The little brown hands, which were now rather nervously arranging the flowers, held more than his life.
"Are they not sweet ?" asked Betty, giving him a fleeting glance.

"We call them 'black-eyed Susans.' Could anything be lovelier than that soft, dark brown ?" "Yes," answered Alfred, looking into her eyes.
"But--but you are not looking at my daisies at all," said Betty, lowering her eyes.
"No, I am not," said Alfred.

Then suddenly: "A year ago this very day we were here." "Here?
Oh, yes, I believe I do remember.

It was the day we came in my canoe and had such fine fishing." "Is that all you remember ?" "I can recollect nothing in particular.