"I--yes--if you call it----" "I do.... And we are to be--married?" He could scarcely now speak the word which but a few moments since he pronounced so easily; for a totally new significance attached itself to every word he uttered. "Are we?" he repeated. "Yes." "Then--if I--if I find that I----" "Don't say it," she whispered. She had turned quite white. "Will you listen----" "No. It--it isn't true--it cannot be." "It is coming truer every moment.... It is very, very true--even now.... It is almost true.... And now it has come true. Sybilla!" White, dismayed, she gazed at him, her hands instinctively closing her ears. But she dropped them as he stepped forward. "I love you, Sybilla. I wish to marry you.... Will you try to care for me--a little----" "I couldn't--I can't even try----" "Dear----" He had her hands now; she twisted them free; he caught them again. Over their interlocked hands she bowed her head, breathless, cheeks aflame, seeking to cover her eyes. "Will you love me, Sybilla?" She struggled silently, desperately. "_Will_ you?" "No.... Let me go----" "Don't cry--please, dear--" His head, bowed beside hers over their clasped hands, was more than she could endure; but her upflung face, seeking escape, encountered his. There was a deep, indrawn breath, a sob, and she lay, crying her heart out, in his arms. * * * * * "Darling!" "W-what?" It is curious how quickly one recognizes unfamiliar forms of address. "You won't cry any more, will you?" he whispered. "N-n-o," sighed Sybilla. "Because we _do_ love each other, don't we?" "Y-yes, George." Then, radiant, yet sweetly shamed, confident, yet fearful, she lifted her adorable head from his shoulder. "George," she said, "I am beginning to think that I'd like to get off this table." "You poor darling!" "And," she continued, "if you will go home and change your overalls for something more conventional, you shall come and dine with us this evening, and I will be waiting for you in the drawing-room.... And, George, although some of your troubles are now over----" "All of them, dearest!" he cried with enthusiasm. "No," she said tenderly, "you are yet to meet Pa-_pah_." [Illustration] XIV GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS _A Chapter Concerning Drusilla, Pa-pah and a Minion_ Capital had now been furnished for The Green Mouse, Limited; a great central station of white marble was being built, facing Madison Avenue and occupying the entire block front between Eighty-second and Eighty- third streets. The building promised to be magnificent; the plans provided for a thousand private operating rooms, each beautifully furnished in Louis XVI style, a restaurant, a tea room, a marriage licence bureau, and an emergency chapel where first aid clergymen were to be always in attendance.