"Not at all," said Brockway, reassuringly. "We sat together and smoked like two Indians at a pow-wow, and neither of us said a word for nearly half an hour. After that, he got up to go away, and then he thought better of it and sat down again, and we had it out about the telegrams and other things. That cleared the air a bit, and before he left, he accepted the situation without saying so in so many words, and promised to graft me on the C. & U. in some place where I can earn more money. Don't cry; it's too good to be true, but the fact remains." "I'm not crying, but I'm glad enough to do a much more foolish thing. You won't let my money make any difference now, will you?" "Your money isn't in it, and I think I made your father understand that I'd never have spoken if I hadn't known you were going to lose it." "But I--I haven't lost it. Didn't he tell you?" "Tell me what?" "About Cousin Chester and Hannah Beaswicke; they were married this evening. I don't understand the legal part of it, but papa says that saves my money. You won't let it make any difference?" Brockway gripped the small hand as if he were afraid it might escape him after all, and tried to flog himself around to the new point of view. It was a breath-taking process, but he compassed it more quickly since there was no time for the nice weighing of scruples. Moreover, it was too late to give poverty-pride a second hearing. So he said: "I can't let it make a difference now, but I shall always be glad that I asked you when we both believed you were going to lose it. And I ought to have guessed about your cousin's marriage, but I didn't--I helped him find the County Clerk, and wondered why he was so anxious about it. I'm glad you didn't have to break his heart." She laughed happily. "There was no question of hearts between us; he knew it, and I knew it; and when he spoke to me to-night, we settled it definitely. Are you glad or sorry? about the money, I mean." "Both, I think; glad for your sake, though." "I'll go and live in the five-roomed cottage with you, if you like, and we'll forget all about it." "I believe you'd do it"--Brockway glanced up, and, seeing the red signal still displayed, blessed the tardy operator who was doubtless bungling the train-order--"but I shan't insist." Then with a touch of graver earnestness: "We are properly engaged now, aren't we?" "I should hope so"--shyly. He took a ring from his pocket and slipped it over the finger of the captive hand. "It isn't every one who goes prepared," he said, with quiet humor; "it was a gift from a train-load of Grand Army people I took across last year; and I've carried it in my pocket ever since because I didn't think I had any right to wear diamonds. Will you wear it for me?" "Always." "Will you wear it to-morrow--before all the others? I'm coming in to breakfast, you know. Your father asked me." "I said always."