She folded the sheet that carried the consoling message--the only word that had helped her bear the loss of her mother and chum, whom she had seen buried but a few days before. She walked to the faded white roses which had accompanied it and which stood on a table close by. She touched them gently and then turned to the bed, and throwing herself on the pillow sobbed softly to herself. Suddenly someone knocked gently upon the door. How long had she been there? Rising she caught a glimpse of one very red cheek as she passed the mirror. She must have slept a long while. “Why, Aunt Martha, what time can it be?” she inquired of a small kindly faced woman who stood outside the door. “Eight-thirty, dear,” her aunt replied, patting her on the arm. “Walter is waiting down stairs to know if you will see him for a moment.” “Yes, Marty,” she said, using the pet name to compensate her aunt for climbing three flights of stairs. “I shall be right down.” She closed the door, and sat down to think over the problem with which she was confronted. Her thoughts returned to the subject which occupied her mind before she fell asleep. She glanced at the letter which had fallen to the floor--such a message. Only one with a great heart could put such thoughts into words. There was no doubt in her mind that some day Walter would be a “big” man. He had already accumulated a fortune, and his name was on the lips of all her friends. He loved her devotedly--that she was sure of, and he had been the favorite of her mother, who had cautioned her to think twice before she rejected him. “And why shouldn’t I marry him?” she asked herself over and over. “There is lots in life besides love. If he is willing to take me with a heart that is just friendly and accept other qualities instead of love, why shouldn’t I make the deal for myself--just as he made one in lumber? He received large profits, and so would I. In return he gave good lumber, and I would supply good material as a wife. He signed a contract, and so will I.” She arose, bathed her face in cold water, carelessly twisted her hair low on her neck, and descended the stairs. Walter stepped to meet her, she extended her hands, more cordially than she had ever done before, and he took them in his own. Never had he been so much in love with her. He gazed into the eyes that were of a surpassingly beautiful shade of brown. They looked larger than ever from grief and loss of sleep, and seemed to match the hair which clung to her forehead with a weblike softness. The nose was not large, but straight and well formed. The lips were a bit thinner and the mouth a bit larger than those an artist would choose for a model, but the even white teeth that had always been her salient attraction compensated for these deficiencies. These features went to make up a face that was not indicative of weakness, yet would not impress one as strong. “I can’t tell you how my heart goes out to you in your sorrow,” he whispered softly.