There was no conceit in Garry’s belief that he had tacit permission, was it right to accept it, to try to win Dorothy Dale’s heart and hand. He was just as well assured in his soul that Dorothy had been attracted to him as he was that she had gained his affection. “Love like a lightning bolt,” Tavia had called Dorothy’s interest in Garry Knapp. It was literally true in the young man’s case. He had fallen in love with Dorothy Dale almost at first sight. Every time he saw her during that all too brief occasion in New York his feeling for the girl had grown. By leaps and bounds it increased until, just as Tavia had once said, if Dorothy had been in Tavia’s financial situation Garry Knapp would never have left New York without first learning whether or not there was any possible chance of his winning the girl he knew he loved. Now it was revealed to him that he had that chance—and bitterly did he regret the knowledge. For he gained it at the cost of his peace of mind. It is one thing to long for the object forbidden us; it is quite another thing to know that we may claim that longed-for object if honor did not interfere. To Garry Knapp’s mind he could not meet what was Dorothy Dale’s perfectly proper advances, and keep his own self-respect. Were he more sanguine, or a more imaginative young man, he might have done so. But Garry Knapp’s head was filled with hard, practical common sense. Young men and more often young girls allow themselves to become engaged with little thought for the future. Garry was not that kind. Suppose Dorothy Dale did accept his attentions and was willing to wait for him until he could win out in some line of industrial endeavor that would afford the competence that he believed he should possess before marrying a girl used to the luxuries Dorothy was used to, Garry Knapp felt it would be wrong to accept the sacrifice. The chances of business life, especially for a young man with the small experience and the small capital he would have, were too great. To “tie a girl up” under such circumstances was a thing Garry could not contemplate and keep his self-respect. He would not, he told himself, be led even to admit by word or look that he desired to be Dorothy’s suitor. To hide this desire during the few days he remained at The Cedars was the hardest task Garry Knapp had ever undertaken. If Dorothy was demure and modest she was likewise determined. Her happiness, she felt, was at stake and although she could but admire the attitude Garry held upon this momentous question she did not feel that he was right. “Why, what does it matter about money—mere money?” she said one night to Tavia, confessing everything when her chum had crept into her bed with her after the lights were out. “I believe I care for money less than he does.”