Mr. Allen put down his teacup and gazed across the table at Helen. Since Mrs. Bosworth had left the drawing-room, ten minutes before, they had been arguing the old, old point, and both held their old positions. "Then you will never, never give your ideas up?" he sighed, with mock-seriousness that was wholly serious. "Then you will never, never give your ideas up?" she repeated in the same tone. "Never, never." "Never, never." They looked at each other steadily for a moment, then their make-believe lightness fell from them. "We certainly do disagree to perfection!" he exclaimed. "Yes. So perfectly that the more I think of what you've asked for, the more inadvisable does it seem." "But you'll change yet. A score of drawn battles do not discourage me of ultimate victory." "Nor me," she returned quietly. Their skirmish was interrupted by the entrance of a footman. Helen took the card from the tray and glanced at it. "Show her into the library and tell her I'll join her soon." She turned back to Mr. Allen. "Perhaps you remember her--she was a maid at your house a little while--a Miss Morgan." "I remember her, yes," he said indifferently. His face clouded; he made an effort at lightness, but his words were sharp. "Where, oh where, are you going to stop, Helen! You are at St. Christopher's twice a week, not counting frequent extra visits. Two days ago, so you've just told me, that Mr. Aldrich was here. To-day, it's this girl. And the week's not yet over! Don't you think there might at least be a little moderation?" "You mean," she returned quietly, "that, if we were married, you would not want these friends of mine to come to your house?" "I should not! And I wish I knew of some way to snap off all that side of your life!" She regarded him meditatively. "Since there's so much about me you don't approve of, I've often wondered why you want to marry me. Love is not a reason, for you don't love me." The answers ran through his head: He admired her; she had beauty, brains, social standing, social tact, and, last of all but still of importance, she had money--the qualities he most desired in his wife. But to make a pretence of love, whatever the heart may be, is a convention of marriage--like the bride's bouquet, or her train. So he said: "But I do love you." "Oh, no you don't--no more than I love you." "Then why would you marry me?--if you do." "Because I like you; because I admire your qualities; because I believe my life would be richer and fuller and more efficient; and because I should hope to alter certain of your opinions." "Well, I don't care what the reasons are--just so they're strong enough," he said lightly. He rose and held out his hand; his face grew serious; his voice lowered. "I must be going. Four more days, remember--then your answer."