Instantly his fine, straight brows came beetling down across his eyes in a fierce paternal scrutiny. Then, quick as a wink, he had rumpled his hair and stuck out his chest in a really startling imitation of Big Brother's precious, pompous importance. But before Ruth could clap her hands his face flashed back again into its usual keen, sad gravity, and he shook his head. "Yes," he deliberated, "perhaps if I truly were your Father or your Brother, I really should advise you to marry--me--not because I amount to anything and am worth it, but because I honestly believe that I should be good to you--and I know that Aleck Reese wouldn't be. But if I'm to advise you in my own personal capacity--no, Ruthy, I don't want to marry you!" "What? What?" Staggering from the desk, she turned and faced him, white as her dress, blanched to her quivering lips. But Drew's big shoulders blocked her frenzied effort to escape. "Don't go away like that, Little Girl," he said. "You don't understand. It isn't a question of caring. You know I care. But don't you, don't you understand that a man doesn't like to marry a woman who doesn't love him?" Her face brightened piteously. "But I _will_ love you?" she protested. "I _will_ love you. I promise. I promise you faithfully--I will love you--if you'll only give me just a little time." The old flicker of mischief came back to her eyes, and she began to count on her fingers. "Let me see," she said. "It's June now--June, July, August, September, October, November--six months. I promise you that I will love you by November." "I don't believe it." Drew fairly slashed the words into the air. Instantly the hurt, frightened look came back to her eyes. "Why, Drew," she whispered, "if it were money that I wanted, if I were starving, or sick, or any all-alone anything, you wouldn't refuse to help me just because you couldn't possibly see ahead just how I was ever going to pay you. Drew, I'm very unhappy and frightened and lost-feeling. I just want to borrow your love. I promise you I will pay it back to you. You won't be sorry. You won't. You won't!" Drew's hand reached up and smothered the words on her lips. "You can't borrow my love," he said sternly. "It's yours, always, every bit of it. But I won't marry you unless you love me. I tell you it isn't fair to you." Impulsively she took his hand and led him back to the big chair and pushed him gently into it, and perched herself like a little child on a pile of bulky law books at his feet. The eyes that looked up to his were very hopeful. "Don't you think, Drew," she argued, "that just being willing to marry you is love enough?" He scanned her face anxiously for some inner, hidden meaning to her words, some precious, latent confession; but her eyes were only blue, and just a little bit shy.