I pleaded and reasoned with Marion in a high, unnatural and despairingly mellifluous voice; without avail. Then it occurred to me that I was on the wrong tack, and in a tone of hoarse despair I said I was a brute. This had been effective before, and I listened breathlessly; there was a faint monosyllabic response, but whether of assent or dissent I could not determine. With added anguish I declared that I was and that she needn't say I wasn't; that it would be better for her if I were dead. There was a whole sentence in reply, the gist of it being that she hadn't said I wasn't. This was encouraging, so I sought to create a diversion by telling her that William had gone; this item was coldly received. Then, like an inspiration, came the thought that I had still to tell her how we had been bidding against each other. "Marion," I called out excitedly, "I know the man who tried to buy the place." "Who is he?" "Open the door, and I'll tell you." "No; I can hear." "He's a perfect brute." I moved away with a heavy tread. It was an excellent move; the door opened and Marion ran after me. "What's his name?" she demanded. "He's a man," I replied, with unreproving, sad forgiveness, "who thought he would try to please his wife by making her a present of the place." "Good gracious! Was it that wretched Griggs?" "No,--his name is--Henry Carton." Now I had expected the announcement to create a sensation, but I was totally unprepared for the effect it produced. Instead of being appalled to learn that she had thrown away sixteen hundred dollars unnecessarily, she forgave me with every appearance of being delighted to hear the news. An interval followed, during which I didn't care particularly how this blissful state of affairs had come to pass, but I gathered by degrees that it was because I had quite innocently proved that I was not a mercenary wretch and that I could by no possibility have saved Mr. Fairman's life from any sordid motive. There are probably few men more deserving of praise, but I shall not repeat Marion's expressions of affection and respect, in case they should appear extravagant. I bore her appreciation with my usual modesty, and when she wondered how she could have behaved so, I said it wasn't any wonder at all, and that I was almost sure I wasn't as good as she said. She declared indignantly that I was far better, and when I tried to add that I had acted like a brute she put her hand over my mouth and threatened to get angry again if I used that word about myself, saying that I had acted like an angel, and how could I ever forgive her? I assured her that there was nothing to forgive, but if there was I forgave her freely, and I did so with such fervor and unselfishness that she almost melted into tears again. Then with the greatest delicacy I suggested that I was grieved that she had been obliged to pay so much more for the farm than if I hadn't been so stupid, but she only said indifferently, "Bother the money--I've got you!"