Nor would they have thought it credible that Steve, married to his coveted fairy princess, should first become attached to Mary Faithful by friendship and then find that friendship replaced by a deep and never-to-be-changed love. It was an impossible situation, they would have said. The morning following Beatrice's parlour picnic and Mary's hard-wrung confession Steve made it a point to be at his desk when Mary came in, despite the few hours' sleep and the fact that Beatrice had willfully chosen to take breakfast with him in sulky, tearful reproach. When Mary was taking off her hat and coat he came to the door of her office and made a formal little bow. He found himself more in love with her than the night previous. There was something so pathetic and lonely about her, successful business woman that she was; the very fact of people's not suspecting it, labelling her as self-sufficient and carefree, only emphasized this loneliness now that he looked at her with a lover's eyes. He realized that whereas he had had to win a fortune to marry the Gorgeous Girl it would be as necessary to lose a fortune to marry Mary--if such a thing were possible; that she was a woman not easy to win, one who would find her happiness not in taking hastily accumulated wealth but in making a man by slow processes and honourable methods until he was fitted to obtain a fortune and then enjoy it with her. "Good morning"--wondering if he looked confused--"I wanted to say that I am on the country-club committee to welcome English golfers, and I'll be away this week off and on. And--and whenever you want me to I'll try to keep under cover for a bit.... I think I do appreciate your telling me the truth last night more than anything else that has ever happened to me; there was something so stoically splendid about it--and I don't want to abuse the confidence. Please don't mind my just mentioning it, I'll promise not to do so again; and we'll go on as before. I was a cad to play about your fireplace--quite wrong--and you had to make me realize it. Do you know, I was half afraid you'd send in your resignation this morning? Women always do those things in books. Please say something and help a chap out." Mary was at her desk opening mail with slow, steady fingers. "I have my living and Luke's living to make, and I could not resign unless you asked me to do so," she told him. "I wondered whether or not you would feel it the thing for me to do. It is a unique situation," she said in a slightly more animated tone--"not the situation, but my calm betrayal of it. Usually my sort go along in silence and take our bursts of truthful rebellion on our mothers' shoulders or in sanitariums. I really feel a great deal better now that I have told you." Her gray eyes were quite fearless in their honesty as she glanced up. "I feel that I can settle down in an even routine and be of more service to everyone."