"Statia Barton," I replied, taking a step that brought me to her side, "it all lies with you. Again I ask you to be my wife and go with me on the journey my doctor declares I must take at once. If you refuse to guard and protect me you have no right to say that some one else shall be prevented from doing so." She trembled, and I thought she was about to relent. My heart gave a quick bound, only to be stilled by her answer. "Your conduct in this matter confirms all my previous suspicions," she replied, and her voice was unsteady. "I am merely, in your mind, a toy to be used as occasion requires. If I refuse to lend myself to that object you have only to find another. Now, Donald Camran, I am a little too proud to take that sort of place. Marriage, in my mind, is rather more sacred than it seems to be in yours. You evidently have no idea how near you are to insulting me, which makes it easier to forgive the slight. I thank you for the honor"--she pronounced the word in an ironical manner--"that you have offered and decline it absolutely. Further, I withdraw all my advice, since it evidently is useless to offer any. Advertise for your lady typewriter, make your arrangements with her, and go your way. And now excuse me, as I have to dress for a walk." I didn't really want to hurt her feelings, and it was too evident that I had done so. I asked meekly if she would let me wait in the parlor till she was ready and escort her to her destination. "No," she answered, with more determination that I had ever heard in her tone. "I prefer to say good-by to you here." I liked her immensely, in spite of all, and was sorry that anything should make a break between us, but I had no idea of crawling on my knees for any woman alive. I took up my overcoat, that lay on a chair--I was as much at home in Tom Barton's house as in my own lodgings--and put it on. Then I took my gloves, my hat and cane, said "Good-by," with great formality, and left the house. I preferred to walk, for although the air was frosty, there was heat enough in my veins. Block after block was traversed in an aimless way, for I had no destination in particular. All at once, I noticed a group of people staring into a window, and realized that I had reached the up-town building of the New York Herald. For several seconds I tried to remember what there was about that building to interest me. It was one of the results of my illness that memory had become treacherous. It frequently happened that I met intimate friends and could not tell their names if I were to be hanged. I slackened my pace, and cudgeled my brain, as the saying is, for some moments. It was the Herald Building--I knew that well enough. What did I want there? Suddenly, glancing into the business office, it all came back to me and I entered. The idea I had suggested to Statia as a joke began to strike me as a rather good thing.