"Yes," he answered. "I want to marry you--and more than ever now, so that you may never again be exposed to a temptation like this." "But now I refuse to marry you," she returned, forcibly, as she withdrew her hand. "I say 'no' now--without hesitation this time." "Why?" he asked. "Because it isn't fair now," she responded. "Fair?" he repeated, puzzled. "I couldn't do it now; it would be too mean for anything," she explained. "As long as I supposed you thought I was rich and were going to marry me for my money, I didn't mind cheating you. I could let you marry me even if I didn't love you, and it would only be serving you right. But now!--now I couldn't! It wouldn't be fair to you. I am pretty mean, I confess, but I'm not mean enough for that, I hope." Again he took a moment to think before he spoke. "I don't know what to make of you," he began. "Am I to understand that you were going to marry me, though you did not love me, so long as you thought I did not love you, but that now, when you know that I really do love you, for that very reason you refuse to marry me?" "That's it," she cried. "You must see how I feel about it. It wouldn't be fair to marry you now I know you are in earnest, would it?" "But if I am willing," he urged; "if I want you as much as ever; if I feel confident that I can get you to love me a little in time; if you will only let me hope--" "Oh, I couldn't," she answered. "I couldn't cheat you now I really know you--now that I like you a great deal better than I did." He was about to protest again, when she interrupted him. "Don't let's talk about it any more," she said, impetuously; "it has given me a headache already." Forbidden to speak upon the one subject about which he had something to say, the man said nothing, and for a minute or more there was silence. They could hear the patter of the rain as it pelted against the window near which they were sitting. Then there was a slight flash of lightning, followed by a distant growl of thunder. A shiver ran through Mrs. Randolph, and she gave a little nervous laugh. "I hate lightning," she explained, "and I detest a storm--don't you? I don't see how any one can ever choose to be a sailor." He smiled grimly. "I am a sailor," he said. "And are you going to sea again soon?" she returned. "I shall miss you dreadfully. I'm glad I sha'n't be here in New York when you are gone. Perhaps I shall leave first." "Where are you going?" he asked, eagerly. "I've got to go somewhere," she answered, "now that I've had to change all my plans. I'm going to Milwaukee." "To Milwaukee?" he repeated. "I did not know you had any friends there." "I haven't," she answered, with a repetition of the hard little laugh. "Not a friend in Milwaukee, and not a friend in New York." "Then why are you going?"