He put his hand on the neat bandage again. “I can’t exactly remember which I’ve actually said, and which I’ve only dreamed of saying, and planned to say,” he fretted. “So, even at the risk of repeating myself, of boring you, I think I’d better tell you--do you mind if I sit down?” “Oh, please!” “Thank you.” He looked younger than ever, leaning back in Miss Ada’s own dear father’s stately chair. “I just want you to know, you see, in case I have not mentioned it to you before, that I think your hair is like a burnished copper shield ... and a sunset--not a pinky, pale, insipid sunset but a splendid, stormy, gorgeous one, and like a flame, and that flame is searing me and scorching me and devouring me, and I _want_ it to! I love you so much that I’ll do anything you wish--and be anything you wish. I’ll take you over the world, or I’ll let you stay here. You can build model mills--” he frowned, and getting unsteadily to his feet walked to the Persian rug and stood upon it. “I wish somebody would make a good job of blowing up the Altonia or burning it down, so I could start in and prove to you----” “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” said Glen Darrow very low, “because I believe--everything. Oh, why didn’t your mother make you understand? I am going to marry Luke Manders the day I am twenty years old. I promised my father, when he was dying, and now--” she crimsoned suddenly. “I know what you think--what you must think of him. Of course,” in spite of her, there was a faint curl of the lip, “he said he was only going to get the doors open to get the hands out----” Peter took a swaying step toward her and shook his head. “Old pins pretty weak and wobbly. Mind coming a little nearer?” When she came close he put his whole hand and his bandaged hand on her shoulders. “I am going to ask you three questions, and you will tell me the truth because you are true.” He drew a long breath. “Do you love him?” “No,” she answered forlornly. “Do you love me?” “Yes.” It was a whisper, but she met his gaze unfalteringly. Peter put his hands resolutely behind him. “You darling!” He barely breathed it. “Well, then,” he went on briskly, “if I can prove to you that your father wouldn’t want you to marry him, will you marry me?” “Oh, but you can’t!” she wailed. “Luke was everything to Dad; he adored him. You see, he found him when he was----” “Answer me!” Peter Parker commanded. “If I can prove it, will you marry me?” Wide-eyed, drawing in a scared breath, the doctor’s daughter moved her head slowly up and down. “Thank you,” he said gravely and courteously. “Now, will you ask Hopkins to come and give me an arm to the car? I’m going to be awfully busy for the rest of the day and night!” CHAPTER XX _Peter Parker of Pasadena is less of a fool than has been popularly supposed, and the golden legend is discovered to be tarnished brass._