“I have to marry. What can I do? I’m tired of being chaperoned, and I don’t want to be an old maid.” Sylvia pondered for a moment. “Suppose,” she said, “that you should marry him, and then meet a man you loved?” “I’ve already answered that—it won’t happen. I’m too selfish.” She paused, and then added, “It’s all right, Sunny. I’ve figured over it, and I’m not making any mistake. He’s a good fellow, and I like him. He’s a gentleman—he does not offend me. Also, he’s very much in love with me, which is the best way; I’ll always be the boss in my own home. He’s respected, and I’ll help out my poor struggling family if I marry him. You know how it is, Sunny—I vowed I’d never be a climber, but it’s hard to pull back when your people are eager for the heights. And then, too, it’s always a temptation to want to go where you’re told you can’t go.” “Yes, I know that,” said Sylvia. “But that’s a joke, and marrying’s a serious matter.” “It’s only that because we make it so,” retorted the other. “I find myself bored to death, and here’s something that rouses my fighting blood. They say I sha’n’t have him—and so I want him. I’m going to break into that family, and then I’m going to shake the rats out of the hair of some of those old maid aunts of his!” She laughed savagely and drove on for a while. “Sunny,” she resumed at last, “you’re all right. You know it, but I tell you so anyway. You never were a snob that I know—but I’m cynical enough to say that it’s only because you are too proud. Can you imagine how you’d feel if anybody tried to patronize you? Can you imagine how you’d feel if everybody did it? I’m tired of it—don’t you see? And Beauregard is my way of escape. I’m going to marry him if I possibly can; my mind is made up to it. I’ve got the whole plan of campaign laid out—your part included.” “What’s my part, Harriet?” “It’s very simple. I want you to let Beauregard fall in love with you.” “With _me_!” “Yes. I want you to give him the worst punishment you ever gave a man in your life.” “But what’s that for?” “He’s in love with me—he wants me—and he’s too much of a coward to marry me. And I want to see him suffer for it—as only you can make him. I want you to take him and maul him, I want you to bray him and pound him in your mortar, I want you to roll him and toss him about, to walk on him and stamp on him, to beat him to a jelly and grind him to a powder! I want you to keep it up till he’s thoroughly reduced—and then you can turn him over to me.” “And then you will heal him?” inquired Sylvia—who had not been alarmed by this bloodthirsty discourse. “Perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t,” said the other. “What is there in the maxims of Lady Dee about a broken heart?” “The best way to catch a man,” quoted Sylvia, “is on the rebound!” § 30 I don’t know how this adventure will seem to you. To me it was atrocious; but Sylvia undertook it with a child’s delight.