"Marion, he worships you--his love is something that frightens me." Miss Arleigh avowed that it was true.
"He will go home," continued Adelaide, "and instead of going to sleep like a sensible man, he will walk about all night, composing grand poems about you." "Does he write poetry ?" asked Marion, with increased admiration.
"He is a poet and artist both," said his sister, with a little touch of pride that amused the heiress.
That was Miss Arleigh's first interview with her admirer, the second was, he assured her, for the sake of the picture--the third, that he might see how the picture was going on--the fourth, that she might see it completed--the fifth, because she found the flattery of his love so irresistible she could no longer do without it--the sixth, because she began to fall in love with him herself--and then she lost all count, she lived for those interviews, and nothing else.
"I want to impress one thing upon you," said Adelaide to her brother; "bear it always in mind.

When you think you have made sufficient advances in her favor to ask her to marry you, do not rest satisfied with her spoken word, make her write it.

It will be of no use to you unless you do that." "Explain a little further, my wisest of sisters," said Allan.
"A written promise of marriage is the only security a man has.

Women change like the wind, without rhyme or reason.

But if you have her own word pledged to you, her promise of marriage written so that there shall be no mistake, then it will be worth a fortune to you." "Even if she should refuse to fulfil"-- "You are not very worldly wise, Allan," said his sister with the slightest tinge of contempt in her voice.