"Because, if you did, you would know that when a woman cares for a man, she would rather just be a servant in his house than go altogether out of his life. Perhaps we all prefer the best, but a woman who cares, would rather have the second best, than nothing at all." "And are you a woman--who cares?" he whispered, drawing her back into his arms, with a sudden sense of her sweetness, her desirableness; "would you rather be----" "You haven't asked me yet to be anything," she answered, with a touch of audacity, that sat charmingly upon her--"at least, you only mentioned rest, and sunshine, and--and intangible things of that sort." "And if I asked you to be my wife?" His lips were very near to hers, his voice in itself was a caress, and Christina's heart beats nearly choked her. "If--I want you for my wife, little girl?" Her answer was quite inarticulate, if indeed she answered him at all, but she allowed him to kiss her lips, and Rupert knew that her answer was given him with that kiss. "You would not let any man kiss your lips, unless you loved him well enough to marry him," he said, after a moment's pause, and Christina looked at him with happy, laughing eyes. "I would not let any man kiss me at all, unless I--wanted to marry him," she answered; "and----" "You want to marry me?" Rupert interrupted with a boyishly spontaneous laugh, such as she had never heard from him before. "Yes, I want to marry you," she said demurely, drawing herself away from him again, and looking mischievously into his face; "and, do you know, this--isn't the first time I--I have thought of marrying you?" "What do you mean?" Rupert's mystified expression brought a dimpling smile out upon her face. "Do you remember the girl who answered your advertisement in the matrimonial column of a certain Sunday paper? That girl----" "Was it you?" he exclaimed. "Were you the girl to whom I wrote? The girl I appointed to meet at Margaret's house? Could any coincidence be more strange?" "I was C.M. who answered that advertisement, because she was at the very end of her resources, her hope," Christina answered gravely. "I felt horrible when I did it. I felt you would think the very worst of me for writing to you at all, but I was nearly in despair that day; there seemed just a loophole of escape for me, if I found--you were--kind and good." "Poor little girl, my poor little girl." His arm drew her close. "You wrote the dearest, most simple little letter. I never thought the worse of you. I never thought badly of you at all. I made up my mind to help you get work; and I recommended you to Cicely; at least, I went so far as to tell Cicely I knew of someone who might do for Baba." "But she didn't take me on your recommendation?" "No, she said references were necessary, and----" "And in the end she took me practically with no references at all, and--the story has just worked itself out to this wonderful ending."