"And there are others?" "A few." "Who?" "Nobody you know." "Any one in particular?" Boyd demanded, with a lover's insistence. Miss Wayland's hesitation was so brief as almost to escape his notice. "Nobody who counts. Of course, father has his predilections and insists upon engineering my affairs in the same way he would float a railroad enterprise, but you can imagine how romantic the result is." "Who is the favored party?" the young man asked, darkly. But she arose to push back the heavy draperies and gaze for a moment out into the deepening twilight. When she answered, it was in a tone of ordinary indifference. "Really it isn't worth discussing. I shall not marry until I am ready, and the subject bores me." An instant later she turned to regard him with direct eyes. "Do you remember when I offered to give it all up and go with you, Boyd?" "I have never forgotten for an instant," "You refused to allow it." "Certainly! I had seen too much of your life, and my pride figured a bit, also." "Do you still feel the same way?" Her eyes searched his face rather anxiously. "I do! It is even more impossible now than then. I am utterly out of touch with this environment. My work will take me back where you could not go--into a land you would dislike, among a people you could not understand. No; we did quite the sensible thing." She sighed gratefully and settled upon the window-seat, her back to the light. "I am glad you feel that way. I--I--think I am growing more sensible too. I have begun to understand how practical father was, and how ridiculous I was. Perhaps I am not so impulsive--you see, I am years older now--perhaps I am more selfish. I don't know which it is and--I can't express my feelings, but I have had sufficient time since you went away to think and to look into my own soul. Really I have become quite introspective. Of course, my feeling for you is just the same as it was, dear, but I--I can't--" She waved a graceful hand to indicate her surroundings. "Well, this is my world, and I am a part of it. You understand, don't you? The thought of giving it up makes me really afraid. I don't like rough things." She shook herself and gave voice to a delicious, bubbling little laugh. "I am frightfully spoiled." Emerson drew her to him tenderly. "My darling, I understand perfectly, and I love you too well to take you away from it all; but you will wait for me, won't you?" "Of course," she replied, quickly. "As long as you wish." "But I am going to have you!" he cried, insistently. "You are going to be my wife," He repeated the words softly, reverently: "My wife."