She uttered unintelligible protests. Bill took her hands in his.

“Mary, you know how much I love you. I always have loved you. Do you—could you care enough to marry me?”

She tried to pull her hands away.

“I can’t! I can’t! Please let me go!”

“You don’t care for me that way?”

“It’s not that!” she cried impulsively.

His grip on her hands strengthened. His voice lost its worried note.

“Then that’s all right. You do care for me. Why won’t you marry me?”

“Oh, Bill, don’t you see?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“How—how c-could I marry you? How could I let you marry a—a—suicide’s daughter?”

“Why not?” he asked imperturbably.

She gasped.

“But—but—oh, don’t be so silly, Bill! I couldn’t bear to have all that old scandal raked up and—and attached to you! People would talk so!”

“Why should they?”

“Because—Bill, don’t be dense! You must understand! For one thing I haven’t a penny to call my own, and—and everybody would say I married you for your money.”

“I was waiting for that platitude,” he remarked. “Wondered whether you’d be foolish enough to bring it out. Do you seriously believe people would say that?”

“Yes—no—I don’t know. Didn’t the Chalmers tell you about—about father?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with you and me.”

“But it has got something to do with us! You’ve no idea what—what a dreadful scandal there was. You can’t possibly marry me! It’s—dear of you and—and quixotic, but—”

“Quixotic be hanged!” he said. “I’m getting my proposal in before anyone else has a chance to. You seem to think that because your father was—er—unlucky, the blame and the disgrace will rest on you. Ridiculous, child! If you’d only waited you’d have had ample support from your friends, and no one would have stared at you or whispered about you.”

Mary seemed to shrink suddenly. She tried to pull her hands away, and, failing, bowed her head over them.

“People – cut – me!” she whispered brokenly. “I c-couldn’t—face them—after that. And I won’t, I couldn’t possibly marry you!”

Bill took her in his arms, where, after a slight struggle, she remained, weeping softly into his shoulder. Man-like, he patted her shoulder by way of comfort.

“How soon can you be ready?” he asked gently when the muffled sobs had abated.

“I won’t! I couldn’t! I’m not going to.”

“One thing,” said Bill severely, “is very evident; you’ve got a lot too pig-headed through living on your own all this time. I’m not going to stand any more nonsense. Understand?”

“I won’t—”

“You’ll do as you’re told. D’you suppose I’m a child that I don’t know my own mind? You’ve told me you care for me—”

“I didn’t!”

“You wouldn't be crying your eyes out on my shoulder if you didn’t. No, lie still, Mary! There! As I was saying, you admit that you care for me, and yet you won't marry me, because you don't think you're the proper sort of wife for me. Are you listening? Very well, then, perhaps you’ll explain what you mean by trying to interfere in my concerns? If I want to marry you that’s my affair. I’m not going to be dictated to on the choice of a wife by you. Mary, you darling, you’re laughing!”