One other influence which dissuaded Taylor from an impulse to turn over Larry’s money to the girl was his determination to win her on his own merits. That might have seemed selfishness on his part, but now that the girl was at the Arrow he could see that she was well supplied with everything she needed. Her legacy would not buy her more than he would give her gratuitously. And he did not want her to think for a single moment he was trying to buy her love. That, to his mind was gross commercialism. Marion was not looking at the mountains; she was watching Taylor’s profile—and blushing over thoughts that came to her. For she wished that she might have met him under different conditions—upon a basis of equality. And that was not the basis upon which they stood now. She had come to the Arrow because she had no other place to go, vindicating her action upon Taylor’s declaration that he had been her father’s friend. That had been a tangible premise, and was sufficient to satisfy, or to dull, any surface scruples he might have had regarding the propriety of the action. But her own moral sense struck deeper than that. She felt she had no right to be here; that Taylor had made the offer of a partnership out of charity. And so long as she stayed here, dependent upon him for food and shelter, she could not permit him to speak a word of love to her—much as she wanted him to speak it. Such was the puritanical principle driven deep into the moral fabric of her character by a mother who had set her a bad example. This man had fought for her; he had risked his life to punish a man who had wronged her in thought, only; and she knew he loved her. And yet, seated so near him, she could not put out the hand that longed to touch him. However, her thoughts were not tragic—far from it! Youth is hopeful because it has so long to wait. And there was in her heart at this moment a presentiment that time would sever the bonds of propriety that held her. And the instincts of her sex—though never having been tested in the arts of coquetry—told her how to keep his heart warm toward her until that day, having achieved her independence, she could meet him on a basis of equality. “Mr. Squint,” she suddenly demanded; “what are you thinking about?” He turned and looked full at her, his eyes glowing with a grave humor. “I’d tell you if I thought you’d listen to me,” he returned, significantly. “But it seems that every time I get on that subject you poke fun at me. Is there _anything_ I can do to show you that I love you—that I want you more than any man ever wanted a woman?” “Yes—there is.” Her smile was tantalizing. “Name it!” he demanded, eagerly. “Stop being tragic. I don’t like you when you are tragic—or when you are talking nonsense about love. I have heard so much of it!” “From me, I suppose?” he said, gloomily. He had turned his head and she shot a quick, eloquent glance at him. “From you—and several others,” she said, deliberately.