Sundown found them watching the trampling surf from the ramparts of their own sand-castle, which Paul, guided by her superior knowledge of things mediæval, had reared. The transition from sandcastles to air-castles was easy, and presently the man was mapping his future. "Grimes wants me to renew our contract," he said. "It runs out October first, you know. But I think it's up to me to be my own boss. I've got what I needed from the dental company--practical experience. If I stay on, I may pick up some things I don't need, just as the other fellows finally drop into old Grimey's shiftless ways. I don't want to take any of his smudge into _my_ office. He can keep his gilt gimcracks and his slave girl and his bogus armor. A plain reception-room, but cheerful, I say; and an operating-room that's brighter still. Canary or two, maybe; plants--real plants--and fittings strictly up to date. Electricity everywhere, chair best in the market, instruments the finest money will buy, but _out of sight_. No chamber of horrors for me! As for location, give me Harlem. I know a stack of folks there, and I like Harlem ways. I've even looked up offices, and I know one on a 'Hundred-and-twenty-fifth Street that just fills the bill. Well, that's part of the programme." Jean was roused from visions of her own. "I know you'll succeed," she said. "That's part of the programme," he repeated; then, less confidently: "The other part includes a snug little flat just round the corner, where a fellow can easily run in for lunch. I don't mean a bachelor's hall. I mean a _bona-fide_ home, with a wife in it--a wife named Jean!" He was a likable figure--clean-cut, earnest, manly--as he waited in the dusk, and the home he offered had its appeal. Marriage would solve many problems. She would be free of the grinding struggle for a livelihood, which the stigma of the refuge made dangerous. She would be free of the fear of such vengeance as Stella could wreak. If the need arose, it would be a simple matter, once they were married, to tell Paul the truth of things. His love would make light of it. As for her love----But what was love? Where in life did one meet the rose-colored dream of fiction? Love was intensified liking, and Paul, as has been recorded, was a likable figure--clean-cut, earnest, manly--as he waited in the dusk. Yet, even then, recurred a still undimmed picture wherein, against a background of forest birches, there shone an indubitable hero of romance. XVI Jean shrank from the congratulations of the boarding-house and the office, and they decided at the outset to keep their engagement to themselves. "Not barring your mother, of course," Paul amended. "To play strictly according to Hoyle, I expect I ought to drop her a line. What do you think?" "It won't be necessary," Jean said. The dentist sighed thankfully.