Miss Maggie meditated; then, a little tremulously she drew in her breath. She lifted startled eyes to his face.

"Why, you'd have to tell them that—that you did it for a test, wouldn't you?"

"If I told the truth—yes."

"And they'd know—they couldn't help knowing—that they had failed to meet it adequately."

"Yes. And would that help matters any—make things any happier, all around?"

"No—oh, no," she frowned despairingly.

"Would it do anybody any REAL good, now? Think of that."

"N-no," she admitted reluctantly, "except that—that you'd be doing right."

"But WOULD I be doing right? And another thing—aside from the mortification, dismay, and anger of my good cousins, have you thought what I'd be bringing on you?"

"ME!"

"Yes. In less than half a dozen hours after the Blaisdells knew that Mr. John Smith was Stanley G. Fulton, Hillerton would know it. And in less than half a dozen more hours, Boston, New York, Chicago,—to say nothing of a dozen lesser cities,—would know it—if there didn't happen to be anything bigger on foot. Headlines an inch high would proclaim the discovery of the missing Stanley G. Fulton, and the fine print below would tell everything that happened, and a great deal that didn't happen, in the carrying-out of the eccentric multi- millionaire's extraordinary scheme of testing his relatives with a hundred thousand dollars apiece to find a suitable heir. Your picture would adorn the front page of the yellowest of yellow journals, and—"

"MY picture! Oh, no, no!" gasped Miss Maggie.

"Oh, yes, yes," smiled the man imperturbably. "You'll be in it, too. Aren't you the affianced bride of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton? I can see them now: 'In Search of an Heir and Finds a Wife.'—'Charming Miss Maggie Duff Falls in Love with Plain John Smith,' and—"

"Oh, no, no," moaned Miss Maggie, shrinking back as if already the lurid headlines were staring her in the face.

Mr. Smith laughed.

"Oh, well, it might not be so bad as that, of course. But you never can tell. Undoubtedly there are elements for a pretty good story in the case, and some man, with nothing more important to write up, is bound to make the most of it somewhere. Then other papers will copy. There's sure to be unpleasant publicity, my dear, if the truth once leaks out."

"But what—what HAD you planned to do?" she faltered, shuddering again.