“It was because I did care for you. It was because I cared so much, I wanted you to be happy. I never dreamed that you could care for an old, staid, broken-down bookworm like me. It wasn't thinkable. I can scarcely think it now. Oh, Frances, are you SURE you are not making a mistake? Are you sure it isn't gratitude which makes you--” She rose from her chair and came to me. Her eyes were wet, but there was a light in them like the sunlight behind a summer shower. “Don't, please don't!” she begged. “And caring for me like that you could still come to me as you did this morning and suggest my marrying him.” “Yes, yes, I came because--because I knew he loved you and I thought that you might not know it. And if you did know it I thought--perhaps--you might be happier and--” I faltered and stopped. She was standing beside me, looking up into my face. “I did know it,” she said. “He told me, there in Paris. And I told him--” “You told him--?” “I told him that I liked him; I do, I do; he is a good man. But I told him--” she rose on tiptoe and kissed me--“I told him that I loved you, dear. See! here is the pin you gave me. It is the one thing I could not leave behind when I ran away from Mayberry. I meant to keep that always--and I always shall.” After a time we remembered Hephzy. It would be more truthful to say that Frances remembered her. I had forgotten Hephzy altogether, I am ashamed to say. “Kent,” she said; “don't you think we should tell Auntie now? She will be pleased, I hope.” “Pleased! She will be--I can't think of a word to describe it. She loves you, too, dear.” “I know. I hope she will love me more now. She worships you, Kent.” “I am afraid she does. She doesn't realize what a tinsel god I am. And I fear you don't either. I am not a great man. I am not even a famous author. I--Are you SURE, Frances?” She laughed lightly. “Kent,” she whispered, “what was it Doctor Bayliss called you when you offered to promise not to follow me to Leatherhead?” I had told her the whole story of my last interview with Bayliss at the Continental. “He called me a silly ass,” I answered promptly. “I don't care.” “Neither do I; but don't you think you are one, just a little bit of one, in some things? You mustn't ask me if I am sure again. Come! we will go to Auntie.” Hephzy had finished unpacking my trunk and was standing by the closet door, shaking the wrinkles out of my dinner coat. She heard us enter and turned. “I never saw clothes in such a mess in my life,” she announced. “And I packed this trunk, too. I guess the trembles in my head must have got into my fingers when I did it. I--” She stopped at the beginning of the sentence. I had taken Frances by the hand and led her up to where she was standing. Hephzy said nothing, she stood there and stared at us, but the coat fell to the floor.