Sir William Ware was so elated at the smooth and rapid development of his unique mating experiment that he could have shouted with glee. It was barely twenty-five minutes since he had first linked arms with this tip-top bit of girlhood and led her in out of the street. Now she was passing his coffee unprompted. Next, ordering him to have in the cream. If domestic relations continued to grow in this splendid, almost spontaneous manner, she would be jolly well ready for the marriage ceremony, almost, by the time this bit of a supper was over. And, if _she_ was ready, Jove! he would be, too. It was magic, it was ripping, the way in which his synthesized connubial Galatea had taken upon herself the bloom and body of life! The baronet sat back, his napkin on his knee, contemplating Daisy with an enjoyment more keen than any sensation he could remember in all the conscious years of his half-century and more. "Shall you like to be Lady Ware?" he said, almost deferentially. Daisy took a date-stone from her red lips, laid it on the side of her saucer, and leaned forward, knuckles under chin, dimples dancing in and out, eyes flashing with a kind of bright shrewdness. "I don't know," she said; letting her lashes fall slowly, and putting her head a little on one side. "I say--stop it!" observed Sir William, so briskly that Daisy sat bolt upright, sobered for a moment; "don't do that, you know--don't flirt, please. I'm not joking. Did you think I was joking, really?" "Joking about what?" said Daisy, in her direct way; but her eyes twinkled. "You know jolly well what, you tantalizing little beggar," said Sir William. "Now, do be sensible. Pour me out a drop more coffee, won't you?" Daisy's round arm and elbow tipped up piquantly as she filled the proffered cup. "I say, I do like to see you pour coffee, you know," Ware's eyes shone like a boy's as he leaned over and, for the second time that evening, covered her hand with his. "Now, tell me, won't you, what you think about our--our plan, as it were?" The hand on hers was strong and cool and steady as a rock. Something about the fine clean touch of it caused coquettishness to fall from Daisy like a flimsy wrap cast aside. She looked at her companion with brown eyes into which there had come a high shining of frankness and trust. The baronet received the honest beaming of that look, in which Daisy's self spoke, with a sense of satisfaction almost solemn in its profundity. Daisy cleared her throat a little--a habit she had when about to speak seriously. Then utterance came, in the simple and plain provincialism of the western farm country. "You seem to be in earnest about this marrying idea; and I'd trust you anywhere," she began; then paused, pondering, her free hand propped beneath her chin. "I say, that's very jolly of you, you know," Sir William patted the hand under his.