llaston. The sweat felt cold upon his
forehead. And then, white hot, bracing him like brandy, a wave of anger.

Some preliminary move toward speaking evidently caught March's ear, for
he turned alertly and looked. It was one of the oddest experiences John
Wollaston had ever had. The moment he met March's gaze, the whole
infernal pattern, like an old-fashioned set-piece in fireworks,
extinguished itself as suddenly as it had flared. There was something
indescribable in this man's face that simply made grotesque the notion
that he could be a blackguard. John felt himself clutching at his anger
to keep him up but the momentary belief which had fed it was gone.

March's face darkened, too. "If you have any idea," he said, "that I've
taken any advantage--or attempted to take any..."

"No," John said quickly. "I don't believe anything like that. I confess
there was a moment just now when it looked like that; when I couldn't
make it look like anything else. It is still quite unaccountable to me.
That explanation is discarded--but I'd like the real one."

"I don't believe," March said, reflecting over it for a moment, "that
there is any explanation I could give that would make it much more
accountable. We love each other. That is a fact that, accountable or not,
we both had to recognize a number of weeks ago. I didn't ask her to marry
me until last night. I wouldn't have asked her then if it hadn't become
clear to me that her happiness depended upon it as much as mine did. When
she was able to see that the converse was also true, we--agreed upon it."

"What I asked for," John said, "was an explanation. What you have offered
is altogether inadequate--if it can be called an explanation at all." He
wrenched his eyes away from March's face. "I've liked you," he went on,
"I've liked you despite the fact that I've had some excuse for
entertaining a contradictory feeling. And I concede your extraordinary
talents. But it remains true that you're not--the sort of man I'd expect
my daughter to marry. Nor, unless I could see some better reason than I
see now, permit her to marry."

This was further than, in cool blood, he'd have gone. But the finding of
a stranger here in his own place (any man would have been a stranger when
it came as close as this to Mary) professing to understand her needs, to
see with the clear eye of certainty where her happiness lay, angered and
outraged him. The more for an irresistible conviction that the pro