“Because it is hopeless,” retorted Marguerite. “I am perfectly well aware, Mr. Parker, what we are down for, and I suppose I cannot blame you for your persistence. Perhaps you don’t know any better; perhaps you do know better, but are willing to give yourself over unreservedly into the hands of another; perhaps you are being forced and cannot help yourself. It is just possible that you are a professional hero, and feel under obligations to your employer to follow out his wishes to the letter. However it may be, you have twice essayed to come to the point, and I have twice tried to turn you aside. Now it is time to speak truthfully. I admire and like you very much, but I have a will of my own, am nobody’s puppet, and if Stuart Harley never writes another book in his life, he shall not marry me to a man I do not love; and, frankly, I do not love you. I do not know if you are aware of the fact, but it is true nevertheless that you are the third _fiancé_ he has tried to thrust upon me since July 3d. Like the others, if you insist upon blindly following his will, and propose marriage to me, you shall go by the board. I have warned you, and you can now do as you please. You were saying—?” “That I love you with all my soul,” said Parker, grimly. (“He didn’t really love her then, you know,” said Harley. “He’d been cured of that in five minutes. But I was resolved that he should say it, and he did. That’s how he came to say it grimly. He did it just as a soldier rushes up to the cannon’s mouth. He added, also:”) “Will you be my wife?” “Most certainly not,” said Marguerite, turning on her heel, and leaving the young man to finish his walk alone. (“And then,” said Harley, with a chuckle, “Parker’s manhood would assert itself in spite of all I could do. He made an answer, which I wrote down.” “I see,” said I, “but you’ve scratched it out. What was that line?” “‘“Thank the Lord!” said Parker to himself, as Miss Andrews disappeared around the corner,’” said Stuart Harley. “That’s what I wrote, and I flatter myself on the realism of it, for that’s just what any self-respecting hero would have said under the circumstances.” A silence came over us. “Do you wonder I’ve given it up,” asked Stuart, after a while. “Yes,” said I, “I do. Such opposition would nerve me up to a battle royal. I wouldn’t give it up until I’d returned from Barnegat, if I were you,” I added, anxious to have him renew his efforts; for an idea had just flashed across my mind, which, although it involved a breach of faith on my part, I nevertheless believed to be good and justifiable, since it might relieve Stuart Harley of his embarrassment. “Very well,” I rejoiced to hear him say. “I won’t give it up until then, but I haven’t much hope after that last chapter.” So Harley went to Barnegat, after destroying his letter to Messrs. Herring, Beemer, & Chadwick, whilst I put my breach of faith into operation.) VII A BREACH OF FAITH