"But there isn't any hatred therewith!" cried Hillyer desperately. "I love you, Marion, and if you don't love me--you don't hate me. So there's more than half of it, and--can't we trust the future a little bit?" "No." "But what are you going to do?" he asked, shifting his line of attack. "I don't know," she replied, with a helpless gesture. "You can't go back to New York without money enough to take your proper place in the world. Of course, if you'll let me, I'll--" "Robert!" she interrupted sharply. "Well, I mean it just the same!" he replied stoutly. "I've got to take care of you, and if you won't--See here, Marion! I simply refuse to be turned down this way. I'll not take your stubborn, whimsy little 'no' for my answer. You're on my hands, thank God! whether you like it or not. Maybe you won't love me. Maybe you won't marry me. We'll see about that! But I'm going to look after you--I'm going to take care of you, just the same--and you can just stop tightening those lips--they're not as red as they ought to be--and you can make up your mind that you can boss me so far and no farther." Marion smiled at him indulgently, but gratefully, and even a little proudly; for she had been very proud of him in the days when only friendship was spoken of. She did not in the least resent his speech; but neither did she answer him. "It's getting late, Robert," she said, shivering a little. "So it is," he replied. "And you've no warm wrap for the night air." He drew the lap-robe around her, and started the automobile. Through the gathering night they drove, almost without speaking, to Huntington's, where the best supper that Claire could contrive from the limited stores at her disposal awaited the prodigal. There was naturally some constraint at table. Huntington had made his peace with Hillyer, having apologized humbly, and expatiated on the cause of his wrath. But he did not know how he stood with Marion, who had been a long time in the camp of the enemy, and who doubtless knew too of his speech about her trunks. He had not dared to ask Hillyer whether he had related that incident to her, and he felt the need of extreme discretion until he should discover what kind of a rod she had in pickle for him, or, at any rate, until the time should be propitious to tell her that he was sorry for his conduct. Marion was tired, and disinclined to talk, while Hillyer, on his side, had his mind fully occupied, between his deal in mines and his deal in love, in both of which he had encountered unexpected difficulties. Only Claire was gay and untroubled, and she accepted eagerly the task of saving the party from awkward silences. For once in many moons she was allowed to talk unchecked, and she made the most of her opportunity. After supper, Marion announced her purpose to go to bed at once. She was sure, she declared, that she could sleep "around the clock." "I'll be off before you're up, then," said Hillyer. "You must go to-morrow?" asked Claire.