And yet--she was so tired! There was a good deal of money to manage, and he could do that. He would like a gay, hospitable house, and so would she, and they would be kind to the poor--and he was an Episcopalian, too. There would be no hitch there. Lucy was a zealous High Churchwoman. Why should she not do it? The man was as good as gold at heart. Jean called him a cad, but the caddishness was only skin deep. Mr. Perry watched her, reading her thoughts more keenly than she guessed. "One thing I will say in justice to myself," he said. "You are a rich woman. If you marry me, YOU will know, if nobody else does, that I am no fortune-hunter. I shall always be independent of my wife. Every dollar she owns shall be settled on her before I go with her to the altar." "Oh, I'm not thinking of the money," said Lucy impatiently. "Then you are thinking of me!" He leaned over her. She felt as if she had been suddenly dragged too close to a big unpleasant fire. "I know you don't love me," he panted, "you cold little angel, you! But you do like me? Eh? just a little bit, Lucy? Marry me. Give me a chance. I'll bring you to me. If there is a single spark of love in your heart for me, I'll blow it into a flame! I can do it, I tell you!" He caught her fiercely by the shoulder. Lucy drew back and threw out her hands. "Let me have time to think!" "Time? You've had a year!" "One more day. Come again this evening----" "This evening? I've come so often!" staring breathlessly into her face. "It will be no use, I can see that. Well, as you please. I'll come once more." The young fellow in his jaunty new clothes shook as if he had the ague. He had touched her. For one minute she had been his! He turned and walked quickly across the Platz. Lucy, left alone, was full of remorse. She looked down into her heart; she had forgotten to do it before. No, not a spark for him to blow into a flame; not a single warm thought of him! The girl was ashamed of herself. He might be a cad, but he was real; his honest love possessed him body and soul. It was a matter of expediency to her; a thing to debate with herself, to dally over, with paltry pros and cons. Miss Vance came hurriedly up the street, an open letter in her hand. Lucy ran to meet her. "What is it? You have heard bad news?" "I suppose we ought not to call it that. It is from George Waldeaux. They have a son, two months old. He tells it as a matter for rejoicing." "Oh, yes," said Lucy feebly. "They are at Vannes--in Brittany. He has a cough. He seems to know nobody--to have no friends, and, I suspect, not much money. He is terribly depressed." Clara folded the letter thoughtfully. "He asks me to tell his mother that the baby has come." "Where is his mother?" "In Switzerland." "Why is she not with him?" demanded Lucy angrily. "Wandering about gathering edelweiss, while he is alone and wretched!"