He was so taken by her fragile beauty. After a few weeks of courting her, he asked her father the permission to ask for hand in marriage. The father knew of nothing in dispraise of the young man. He was of noble birth. His family was endowed with both good name and fortune. All things considered, he gave his consent to the eager suitor to address the question to his daughter.
It was a tacit agreement that she would not be averse to this arrangement. He invited her to go for a stroll in the beautifully laid garden of her father’s estate. As they walked they conversed about mundane things. Finally he asked her to be seated on one of the benches, scattered in the shady arbor. And gathering his courage, he asked the question, to the object of his desire. “Arabella, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” She cast her eyes downwards and blushed a pretty shade of pink. “Anthony, I love you like a brother and cannot agree to marry you. I am deeply honored that you proposed to me but I am in love with someone else and hence will have to refuse your gracious offer” He was totally unprepared for this response and was annoyed by the answer. But keeping his emotions under control he asked her who the lucky beau was. Still blushing, she replied shyly that he was the young man her father had employed as the gardener.
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