"The decision will hardly rest with us. Mr. Bartlett comes to-morrow to meet Mr. Moon and several other gentlemen invited for the purpose. The money deposited with his company to be used for Yorkburg in coming years will be staggering to Mr. Walstein. Miss Gibbie is a wizard in some things, and in business a genius, yet of this little scheme she made a mess and put you in a--How to let Yorkburg know who its unknown friend is will be settled by Mrs. McDougal, I imagine. I had a little talk with her this morning. She has understood all the time who was putting up the money, but she had sense enough to keep her understanding to herself. I told her she could let it out. She flew home for eggs, and there'll be few of her customers who won't have a visit from her to-day. You won't have to tell the name of Yorkburg's friend." For a moment there was silence. Then abruptly he crossed over to her, took her hands in his, and held them with an intensity that hurt. "Mary! Mary!" In his arms he gathered her, crushed her, lifted her face to his and kissed it, kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair. "We will come back for Christmas, but we are to be married at once." She struggled to draw away, but his strong arms held her until breath came unsteadily; then, as again she tried to free herself, he held her off, gripping her hands. "Is there nothing to tell me, Mary?" "To tell you?" The long lashes shielding the awakened eyes quivered. He bent closer to hear her. "What do you want me to tell you?" "That you--love me." His faced whitened. "For my much love is there not even a little, Mary?" She shook her head, her eyes still upon the rug. Then she looked up. "I never love--a little. For your much love I have-- Oh, John, John, don't leave me any more! Don't leave me here alone!" * * * * * "I suppose"--she punched the cushion on the sofa beside her into first one shape and then another--"I suppose there must always be something we wish there wasn't. I don't like your world. I don't want to marry in it. It's so queer how things get mixed up and twisted in life. I believe in the old-fashioned things, and do not want that which the men and women of your world want. What would mere externals mean if your heart was not happy, or if one's life was spent on parade with no one to care for you--just for yourself." "In this particular case"--he smiled in the brilliant, anxious eyes--"there is some one to care for you--just for yourself." "I know, but--" She drew away. "I can't talk if-- You really mustn't, John! I think I'd better sit in that chair." "I think you hadn't. Go on. But what?"