“Yes?” she said, in her most heavenly voice. She released her hands, but her eyes never left his. “Jerningham.” “The Klondike millionaire who--” “The same!” “Ah!” said Miss Keogh, calmly, but her flowerlike cheeks were azalea-pink, and her eyes were full of light. She had read the _Planet's_ articles. She did not remember how many million dollars Jerningham was supposed to have; but she did remember how the fairest of the fair had tried--and failed! “Remember--any time, with or without notice. My offer is open until you accept it or definitely refuse it. Perhaps I never could make you love me; but I know I could love you if I let myself go.” “You have not answered me,” said Miss Keogh. “Ask again,” he smiled. “Why?” There was no smile in her eyes. It made him serious. He answered: “For friendship.” “To a woman?” “To a man.” “Again I ask, Why?” There was a pause. Then he said: “Mrs. Ashton Welles is the only daughter of Mrs. Deering.” “And--” “She is twenty-two.” “And--” “Her husband is fifty-two. That's all!” “Is it?” “So far as I am concerned, it is--really!” “Is Mr. Ashton Welles your friend?” “No. But he is no enemy, either.” “No? But you have a friend, a Mr. Wolfe--a Mr. Francis Wolfe?” She knew it from a newspaper item. But Mr. Jerningham jumped up from his seat. “Marry me, dear girl! Marry me, I beg of you! You are the only woman in the world! You are the most beautiful ever created and, beyond all question, the cleverest. You are a genius! Why isn't all mankind on its knees worshiping? Will you marry me? Wait! Don't speak. I know what your answer will be.” “You do?” She smiled inscrutably. Imagine the Sphinx--if the Sphinx were Irish and very beautiful--with those eyes and those lips! Guess? You couldn't guess where your soul was--or whose! “Yes, I do,” answered Jerningham, confidently. “I will write it on a piece of paper and prove it. But first tell me this: Will you take Mrs. Deering's case?” She looked at him, and said, “Yes.” “Very well.” He wrote something on one of his cards, doubled it so she could not see what he had written, and gave it to her, saying, “Now answer me: Will you marry me?” She looked at him a long time. He met her gaze squarely. Presently she said, very seriously: “Not yet!” “Look in the card,” he said, also very seriously. She did. It said: _Not yet!_ A vague alarm came into her purple-blue eyes. She was on the point of speaking, but he held up his hand, and said, earnestly: “Please don't say it. We'll meet in London. You will enjoy the Continent later on. Now let us go and get your letter of credit, and see whether you like the stateroom that I ordered reserved.” They did.