He crossed the room and stood leaning against the mantel, looking down at her in silence. “What is it, Philip?” she repeated. “Your father says that I must be ready to marry you within a year or else——” he paused. “Or else what?” she asked anxiously. “The worst. I shall have to give you up.” Philip saw her face pale. She arose and stood at his side, her hand upon his shoulder, her head tilted so that she could look into his face. “It shall be only you, Philip. If it is not you it shall be no other.” He gazed at her in silence, trying to read the depth of her faith in her eyes. The thought that she was beautiful and that he loved her came strongly to him. “You believe in me, Philip; you trust me?” “As I do no one else—as I never shall another. It is you and only you. Everything is centered or ends forever in you.” And then he laughed lightly. “After all, it is not so bad. Perhaps this will force our happiness upon us sooner than we have dared anticipate.” “How long did he say?” “Within a year, and it is so short a time,” he said, with a deep breath. “Within a year,” she repeated slowly. “But I can't be forced away from you. He can't make me give you up.” And she shook her head in defiance. “Can't he, Barbara? Can't he, dear?” And Philip bent toward her, speaking softly. “I belong to you.” Philip straightened up, saying somewhat grimly: “I must work. I shall be forced to see you less often.” “Must you?” “Yes. This admits of no delay. And no matter how hard I work... even then it's all doubt and uncertainty.” “Why do we have to wait?”—with a sigh. “I could help you so much if I were with you. I know I could.” Philip ground out between his set teeth the one word, “Money,” and Barbara was silent. “We are most unfortunate,” he continued. “We both belong to what are called prosperous and well-to-do families and yet beyond a well defined point there is not an extra penny, every cent being swallowed up in the wretched sham of appearances. I own frankly I am poor, and as if this were not misfortune enough in itself, my poverty is allied to a worthless sneaking respectability that is maintained at the cost of constant sacrifice. I have the added ignominy of knowing that the very appearances on which is squandered everything, deceive no one. How destructive to self-respect to live a lie unbelieved even by the most credulous! If it accomplished its beneficent mission, there would be a worthy excuse for it, but to run the risk of damnation for the sake of a lot of unsuccessful deceits makes my soul sick.” “What do we care for people? If we are happy what does it matter?” She pressed close to his side. “What do we care?” “Do you mean you would marry me now, if you could, and disregard the doubtfulness of the future?” “But you haven't asked me yet... how can I tell?” “Would you, dear?”... tenderly.