"It was. The hardest thing I've ever done in my life. You gave me the chance. I took it. I won't regret it. It was selfish--brutal--anything you like. But I don't regret--nine wonderful mornings, twenty-seven precious hours--more, I hope, than you've given any man in your life." He made one rapid stride and took her in his arms. "I love you, Millicent, dear. I've loved you from the first moment--there in the picture gallery. Yes, I'd do it again. Every moment I've blessed the luck that made it possible. Don't turn away from me. You don't hate me. I know it. You couldn't help feeling a response to a love like mine." He held her close to him, raising her head at last until her lips were level with his own. But he did not touch them. She still struggled faintly, but she would not open her eyes and look at him. "No, no, you mustn't," was all that she found strength to say. "You can't deny it. You do--care for me. Look up at me and tell me so." She would not look at him and at last struggled away and stood, her cheeks flaming. "You are masterful!" she stammered. "A girl is not to be won in this fashion." "I love you," he said. "And you----" "I despise you," she gasped. She turned to the mirror, and rearranged her disordered hair. "Don't say that. Won't you forgive me?" She sank on the model stand and buried her face in her hands. "It was cruel of you--cruel." The sight of her distress unnerved him and gave him for the first time a new view of the enormity of his offense. It was her pride that was wounded. It was the thought of what Mortimer Crabb might think of her that had wrought the damage. He bent over her, his fingers nearly touching her, yet restrained by a delicacy and a new tenderness begotten by the thought that it was he alone who had caused her unhappiness. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I'm sorry." And she only repeated. "What can he think of me? What can he think?" Burnett straightened, a new thought coming to him. It seemed like an inspiration--a stroke of genius. "Of course," he said, calmly, "you're hopelessly compromised. He must think what he pleases. There's only one thing to do." She arose and breathlessly asked, "What _can_ I do? How can I----" "Marry me--at once." "Oh!" She spoke the word slowly--wonderingly--as if the idea had never occurred to her before. He had left the way to the door unguarded, but instead she walked toward the window, and looked out over the roof-tops. To Burnett the silence was burdened with meaning, and he broke it timorously. "Won't you--won't you, Millicent, dear?" Her voice trembled a little when she replied: "There is one thing more important than that--than anything else in the world to me." At her side his eyes questioned mutely. "And that?" he asked at last. "My reputation," she whispered.