“No. For both our sakes. . . . Yes—I’m honest. For both. We’re earthy, you know. It’ld mean that we’ld have to come down—come down in the world. Well, I shouldn’t like that—I’ld hate it. And so would you. And on the top of it all I should always know two things—first, that I’d brought you down, and then that you might have married a richer man.” “How would you bring me down if I was poor?” “My dear, your face is your fortune—your face and your pretty ways. You might be poor as blazes, but as long as you stayed single you could dine and dance and sleep in half the ancestral homes of England.” “Sort of second Queen Elizabeth?” said Athalia. “I must be nice.” “Oh, but you are,” said Punch. “Most—er—most nice.” “D’you mind speaking the truth?” Fairfax moistened his lips. “You are probably the most adorable woman in London to-day. I have never heard anything said of you which you would not have liked to hear. Finally, you are frequently indicated as a future Duchess: in fact, if you married me, I believe sterling would drop two stitches—I mean, points.” “I wish I was poor,” said Miss Choate. “What would you do?” Again the lady smiled. “I should probably marry you,” she said. “But I shouldn’t ’ve asked——” “I should waive that preliminary,” said Miss Choate calmly. So soon as he could speak— “You forward girl,” said Fairfax. “You wicked——” “And you,” continued Athalia, “not having had any say in the matter, would go up the steep and narrow path to heroism—touching the ground in spots. I should see to that,” she added darkly. Fairfax wiped his brow. “Oh, the vixen,” he said. “Listen at her.” “As it is,” said his companion, “though my feet are of clay—‘earthy,’ I think, was your expression—the man who marries me must think them of fine gold.” Fairfax looked down his nose. “There are plenty of coves,” he said, “who’ll tell you the tale. Besides, when I said you were earthy, I only meant ‘human.’ Hang it, Athalia, if I told you your little feet were golden, you’ld tell me to go straight home and sleep it off.” “Also,” continued Miss Choate, “he must prefer my smile to any comfort that he has ever dreamed of.” “But I do,” protested her swain. “Infinitely. They’re not in the same street.” “Rot,” said Athalia. “You love your comfort best every time. My smile doesn’t come off with my pearls. If I was poor, my smile’ld still be there. But you wouldn’t want it then.” “Of course I should. And if I was rich, I’ld have it. It’s not your money I want, but it _is_ your money we need. I’ve been honest about it. ‘Live and let live,’ you know.” “Have you anything,” said Athalia, “but what you earn?” “Not a bean,” was the cheerful reply. “I had sixty thousand, you know. But I’ve been through the lot.” “Good,” said my lady. “Look here. Jobs tend to cramp the style——” “They’re a weariness of the flesh,” sighed Punch. “—and my husband’s style must not be cramped. If you’ll give up your job, I’ll—I’ll marry you.”