"I'd trust you anywhere," Daisy went on, "and there isn't any reason, I guess, why I shouldn't marry you. I'm not promised to anybody else, and I like all the boys the same--just as friends. I suppose you're a pretty rich man, and I'd have a lovely home; and you're so polite and gentlemanly, you'd be an easy husband to get along with. But--but when a person marries," Daisy hesitated, a dash of color coming into her cheeks; then, putting up her chin, went on resolutely, "they have to--have to--oh, I can't put it in any fancy way, because I don't know how--they have to start right away raising kids. So that's why I don't want to marry just yet. That's why I just couldn't get married, the way I feel now, unless it was to someone I loved so much I couldn't help it." Daisy Nixon paused, her face hot. An odd feeling--as though she would like to recall what she had just "come out with"--possessed her for a moment. Never before, in all her battling and aggressive seventeen years, had she, as it were, let down her guard and talked so frankly and freely. But frankness awakens frankness; and this fine-looking stranger, with his straightforward and pleasant manner, had drawn her out in spite of herself. Sir William did not speak for a little while. There was a glow in his eyes, as he regarded her, that might have been the index of any one of several emotions. "I hope you're not mad (angry)," Daisy seized the interpretation nearest at hand of Sir William's expression. "You needn't be, because if I ever do fall in love, I don't think it will be with a young fellow anyway. Boys are pretty near all alike--you go out with them a couple of times, and you know all about them. They're all right to play with--but when a girl really falls in love, it's with a man, not a boy. That's the way it'll he with me, unless I find a boy-man, and they're as scarce as hens' teeth." Sir William looked at her so long after she had stopped speaking, that Daisy's face, never very long at rest, changed from gravity back to its customary dimpling. "You'll be sure to know me, anyway, next time you see me, eh?" she said, putting her head on one side. Ware, still holding her hand, stood up. The napkin slid off his knee to the floor. Daisy, obeying a tidy feminine impulse, stooped over and with her free hand picked the doyley up and laid it on the table. Then she stood erect and bright, facing the baronet at about the level of his chin. "Little woman," he said, his eyes shining down into hers, "you are jolly well right when you say I shan't forget you; and I want you to believe that I don't intend to forget you--in fact, haven't the slightest intention of forgetting you, or even trying to. Shall you keep on, do you think, in your present position?" "I guess so," said Daisy, "I like the lady of the house."