Deborah was as exhausted by the shock as if she had been stunned by lightning. She was tired out with the first kiss an impassioned man had ever pressed upon her lips, the first bone-threatening hug an ursine lover had ever inflicted upon her wicker ribs. She was more afraid of Newt Meldrum than she had been of Asaph. But when she told him she would think it over he declined to wait. He laughed at her pleas. She had promised to abide by his decision, and he had decided that she should go neither to Asaph’s nor to Crawford’s, but to New York–not as any old buyer, either, except of things for her own beautiful body and some hats for that fleecy white hair of hers. And she should live in New York, take her mother there if she wanted, and close up this house after they had been married in it. She had been shaking her head to all these things and dismissing them gently as the ravings of a delirious boy. But now she said: "Oh, I could never be married in this town." "And why not?" "Oh, I don’t know. I just couldn’t." She was still afraid that people would laugh at her, but more afraid that they would think she was trying to flaunt her triumph over them–the triumph of marrying the great Newton Meldrum. She could bear the laughter; she was used to the town’s ridicule. But she could not endure to be triumphing over anybody. Meldrum did not fret over her motives; he simply nodded. "All right; then we’ll be married in New York. How soon can you start?" She stared at him, this amazing man. "How soon? Why, I haven’t said I’d marry you yet! I’ll have to think it over." He laughed and crushed her in his arms and would not let her breathe till she breathed "Yes." He was the most amazing man. But, then, men were all so amazing when you got to know them. They must have all gone crazy at once, though. THE END