“It was effective,” laughed Marcia. “Buddy was honestly convinced that without The Guardian to guide it, the Nation would go to immediate destruction.” “Buddy’s little plan turned out well for him,” observed Jem. “Marcia is sending him to Old Central in the fall. Sort of a fairy godmother, aren’t you?” he added, looking up at his wife. “Pull the paper through with one hand, save us all, and make a man of Buddy with the other.” “Do not give me too much credit,” said Marcia, more gravely. “It was Andy who really held you here when you wished to go into the army.” “Oh, well, I had my stake in the paper, too,” disclaimed the general manager, picking up his valise and hat. “Good-night, Bosses,” he added. “Don’t overwork and spoil your beauty, you two.” “Marcia,” said Jem, after their aide had gone. “That night when you came back--don’t go away while I’m talking seriously, please!--would you really have married me, right away, then and there?” “Certainly, I would. I meant to. You were very cruel. You spoiled my plans.” He regarded her with suspicion. Was there a note of raillery in the sweet, even voice? “What plans?” “Why, to marry you then.” “And then what?” “To put my money into the paper and keep you from selling it, of course.’ “But if I would n’t have taken it? And I would n’t, you know.” “That would not have made the slightest difference,” she said calmly. “You could not have sold the paper, in any case, if you had married me when--when I proposed to you.” “Could n’t I! I’d have had to, if matters had gone on as they were going.” “No. For you could not have sold the paper without the plant, and the plant being real estate, could not be transferred without the wife’s consent.” “So it couldn’t! You wretched little plotter! Who put you up to that?” “I consulted a lawyer,” she replied demurely. “On a hypothetical case.” “I’m jealous,” declared Jem. “You were trying to marry me for my property and not for my winning self. Was that the only reason?” Her face changed adorably as she bent over him. “What do you think?” she said. “But I wanted to have--what is it Andy called it?--a stake in the paper, too,” she continued, after a moment. “You have never let me. Do you think that is fair?” “It’s the only fair way. We’re not out of the woods yet, with The Guardian. Newspaper property is going to be mighty uncertain before this war is over, and I don’t want you involved in it. The Guardian has taken you in, little wife, but it won’t take your money.” “Not even if you should need it? To save the paper?” “Not even then.” “Jem, I--I want a--a stake in the paper.” “Why, Marcia! What is it, dearest? You’re not crying, are you?” “No, I _think_ not. If I am, it is for happiness, Jem. I--I have a--a special stake now in the paper. I want to keep The Guardian to hand it down to--to--” “Marcia!” He turned in the circle of her arms, but for once the frank eyes were hidden from him.