"We've accomplished a great deal," she assured him. "Yesterday morning I could n't--at this time--have done even the proper things and felt proper. Oh, you don't know how people look at you, and how that look makes you feel, even when you know better. I could n't have sat here at breakfast with you and felt comfortable. Now we can sit here and plan a wonderful trip like this. It's all because you're just Monte." "And you just you!" "Only I don't count for anything. It makes me feel even more selfish than I am." "Don't count?" he exclaimed. "Why--" He stifled the words that sprang to his lips. It was only because she thought she did not count that she was able to feel comfortable. Once let her know that she counted as at that moment she did count to him, and even what little happiness he was able to bring her would vanish. He would be to her then merely one of the others--even as he was to himself. He rose abruptly. "I must see about getting a machine," he said. "I want to start this afternoon if possible." "I'll be ready," she agreed. As they went out to the office, the clerk stepped up to him. "I have secured the reservation, monsieur," he announced. "Please cancel it," replied Monte. "Reservation?" inquired Marjory. "On the Calais express--for a friend of mine who has decided not to go," he answered. CHAPTER XII A WEDDING JOURNEY Monte made an extravagant purchase: a new high-powered touring car capacious enough for a whole family--his idea being, that the roomier the car, the less Marie would show up in it. On the other hand, if he cared to consider her in that way, Marie would be there as much for his protection as Marjory's. The task that lay ahead of him this next week was well defined; it was to get back to normal. He had diagnosed his disease--now he must cure it. It would have been much easier to have done this by himself, but this was impossible. He must learn to gaze steadily into her eyes, while gazing into them; he must learn to look indifferently upon her lips, with her within arm's reach of him. Here was a man's job. He was not even to have the machine to occupy his attention; for there was no time to secure a license, and so he must take with him a chauffeur. He was fortunate in being able to secure one on the spot--Louis Santerre, a good-looking lad with the best of recommendations. He ordered him to be at the hotel at three. Thus, in less than an hour from the time he entered the salesroom, Monte had bought and paid for his car, hired his man, given orders for certain accessories, and left, with Monsieur Mansart bowing him out and heartily wishing that all his customers were of this type.