The Lost Girl. D. H. Lawrence

knows!" she laughed.

      "Goodness usually does," he answered archly.

      When they came to the rather stumbly railway, he said:

      "Won't you take my arm?"—offering her the said member.

      "Oh, I'm all right," she said. "Thanks."

      "Go on," he said, pressing a little nearer to her, and offering his arm. "There's nothing against it, is there?"

      "Oh, it's not that," she said.

      And feeling in a false position, she took his arm, rather unwillingly. He drew a little nearer to her, and walked with a slight prance.

      "We get on better, don't we?" he said, giving her hand the tiniest squeeze with his arm against his side.

      "Much!" she replied, with a laugh.

      Then he lowered his voice oddly.

      "It's many a day since I was on this railroad," he said.

      "Is this one of your old walks?" she asked, malicious.

      "Yes, I've been it once or twice—with girls that are all married now."

      "Didn't you want to marry?" she asked.

      "Oh, I don't know. I may have done. But it never came off, somehow. I've sometimes thought it never would come off."

      "Why?"

      "I don't know, exactly. It didn't seem to, you know. Perhaps neither of us was properly inclined."

      "I should think so," she said.

      "And yet," he admitted slyly, "I should like to marry—" To this she did not answer.

      "Shouldn't you?" he continued.