All-Story Weekly, March 1, 1919 — page 155: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

_wardly to his feet. “THE ae and his mind was far, far away from the insect world. ‘““ Well,” he said at last, give up yet.” Miss Dean was plainly surprised at this “IT shall not declaration of persistence and even some-. what alarmed. “ You’re not going to ask me five times?” she exclaimed. “Maybe more,” he answered solemnly. “Mercy! Oh, I wouldn’t, if I were you, Mr. Tilley. Really, I wouldn’t. Five times is much too often to ask any woman. One woman isn’t worth it, you know. I _ really think you’d do better to distribute it around.” ‘] shall persist,” he said stubbornly. “Tm sorry,” she said. ‘So shall I.” ‘ Even if I ask ten times,” he added des- perately. ~“T should hate to feel that you were just out to break the record, Mr. Tilley. It would be such a useless waste of time, you see. Wouldn’t it be much more profitable if you devoted et time to your profes- sion?” He shook his fad moodily. “You see, I’m afraid you’ve been neg- lecting it,’’ she added, watching him. “ At first you were very enthusiastic, but now— And if I’ve been the cause of it I shall feel very guilty.” Tilley stirred restlessly. “Nevertheless, I’m going to ask you some more,” he declared. “Oh, please! Not right now, anyhow.” “Oh, I'll give you time to reconsider,” he conceded. ‘ But—but I won’t» have Higgins—or that Grouch.” She laughed with genuine mirth. “T promise not to marry the Grouch, if he asks me five hundred times,” she said. “There! Does that help?” “A little,” he admitted as he rose awk- “ But it’s a hard blow, Miss Dean, no matter if you try to soften it. You see ”—he cracked another knuckle —‘“T’m honestly in love.” — ‘““T believe you, Mr. Tilley. Even if it sounds somewhat vain for me to say so. And in the meantime you go back to your insects. And I'll help you, if I may. I didn’t believe I could ever ee them 10 ASS . myself, but now I’m beginning to think could actually love them. “Wait! Don’t say it. you would you .were a bug. It’s lovely of you to think it, but honestly I cont stand another compliment this evening.” He walked with her as far as the cottage, where he bade her a melancholy good night. She shook hands with the utmost cordiality and thanked him again for the honor he had offered and the beautiful way in which he had expressed it. “Tl do it better next time,’ he prom- ised. see.’ Miss Dean sat on the porch for a long time, thinking gravely. ‘“T can’t make sense of it,” she mused. ‘It’s more than merely absurd. It’s mys- terious. an extraordinary one. And I cannot make out whether he really wants me to marry him or not. “YT don’t think he deqaived quite as much as he ought to. But, of course, that may be only his peculiar way. He may be quite broken-hearted, after all. And yet—” She shook her head. CHAPTER ° XX, FOR THE FAIR NAME OF MISS DEAN. T a point along the tired old road that ran from the village to the farm, Don’t tell me = He may be a naturalist, but he’s) ‘“T bungled it to-day. You wait and just as darkness came, Miss Dean | found herself in command of an odd expedi- tion. She had walked nearly a mile to join it and was sitting on a stone wall, awaiting it, when the expedition arrived in a lugubrious automobile. It consisted of the village photographer, his husky assistant.Phil and an assortment 3 of photographic apparatus. The photographer alighted from his car and glanced wonderingly about. “Well, ma’am,” he said, “I don’t see anything here to be photographed but a Jot of old woods that ain’t worth anything; but you’re the doctor, and you’re payin’ for it, so all you’ve got to do is say what you want.”