Her anger was on the very brink of turning itself into oratory when he stood up, squarely before her, clenched his fists in order to hold himself in a vanadium-steel clutch, and whispered, huskily: "Merciful Heaven, but you're beautiful!" The vocal storm, checked for an instant by his extraordinary exhibition of self-control, gave him time to go on: "Don't look at me! Don't you know how beautiful you are? It isn't fair!" He turned from her, walked over to one of the windows, and stared out of it. It showed more than self-control. It showed respect. And there are times when a New York girl likes to feel that the man who wishes to marry her also respects her. Grace knew it would be absurd to ring for a policeman; as absurd as to encourage H. R. to stay. And she really had not studied him cold-bloodedly. She looked at his back and wondered. Presently H. R. turned from the window and with a semblance of composure said to her: "If you will scold me, or laugh at me, or turn your back on me, I'll find it easier to speak calmly." Since such was the case, she decided not to do any of the things he desired her to do. She also said nothing. It is a very wise woman who, being beautiful, can keep her mouth shut. "Grace, you and I are now at the door of the church. Our wedding will be positively a national event. Have you read the papers? Did you see what I have undertaken to do for your sake?" She turned away her head. But she heard him say, with the calmness of a man who is sure of himself, and therefore to be respected: "I am cool again. You may turn your head this way." Her foot was tap-tapping the polar-bear skin eighty-four times to the minute. She was trying to find a way of getting rid of him once for all. She did not desire more sensational newspaper articles, and she realized that she must be more than careful if she was not to supply the material for them. She was clever enough to realize that this was not a man to be shooed away, chickenwise. What had seemed so easy to do was in truth an appalling problem. "Listen, Grace. For your sake I gave to New York free sandwiches." She sniffed before she could help it. "You are right," he admitted, "even if it made you famous"--she was unmoved--"and me rich!" She started slightly. She had never thought of the business end of his crusade. The motive is everything, in love as in murder. "You are right," he pursued. "But, really, I am not bragging about it. But now I'm going to give free dinners. Millions are affected-- I mean millions of dollars, not people. But I must have your help. Even your da-- "Sir!" began the loyal daughter, angrily. "_Dad_, I was going to say, not _damn_, as you naturally assumed," he explained, with dignity. "Even dad is on the Mammoth Hunger Feast Commission. I put him on. When he sees I got the other bank presidents he'll stay on. But I'll tell you why I came to see you--" "Uninvited," she frowned.