So she dropped her eyes to the floor and waited for a moment of tense silence. Then, "Am I to consider this a proposal, Mr. Woods?" she asked, in muffled tones. Billy stared. "Yes," said he, very gravely, after an interval. "You see," she explained, still in the same dull voice, "you phrased it so vaguely I couldn't well be certain. You don't propose very well, Mr. Woods. I--I've had opportunities to become an authority on such matters, you see, since I've been rich. That makes a difference, doesn't it? A great many men are willing to marry me now who wouldn't have thought of such a thing, say--say, four years ago. So I've had some experience. Oh, yes, three--three _persons_ have offered to marry me for my money earlier in this very evening--before you did, Mr. Woods. And, really, I can't compliment you on your methods, Mr. Woods; they are a little vague, a little abrupt, a little transparent, don't you think?" "Peggy!" he cried, in a frightened whisper. He could not believe, you see, that it was the woman he loved who was speaking. And for my part, I admit frankly that at this very point, if ever in her life, Margaret deserved a thorough shaking. "Dear me," she airily observed, "I'm sure I've said nothing out of the way. I think it speaks very well for you that you're so fond of your old home--so anxious to regain it at _any_ cost. It's quite touching, Mr. Woods." She raised her eyes toward his. I dare say she was suffering as much as he. But women consider it a point of honour to smile when they stab; Margaret smiled with an innocence that would have seemed overdone in an angel. Then, in an instant, she had the grace to be abjectly ashamed of herself. Billy's face had gone white. His mouth was set, mask-like, and his breathing was a little perfunctory. It stung her, though, that he was not angry. He was sorry. "I--I see," he said, very carefully. "You think I--want the money. Yes--I see." "And why not?" she queried, pleasantly. "Dear me, money's a very sensible thing to want, I'm sure. It makes a great difference, you know." He looked down into her face for a moment. One might have sworn this detected fortune-hunter pitied her. "Yes," he assented, slowly, "it makes a difference--not a difference for the better, I'm afraid, Peggy." Ensued a silence. Then Margaret tossed her head. She was fast losing her composure. She would have given the world to retract what she had said, and accordingly she resolved to brazen it out. "You needn't look at me as if I were a convicted criminal," she said, sharply. "I won't marry you, and there's an end of it."