he steps, and pulled the bell. He was
admitted. He had no better luck here. Lane felt that his lips shut
tight, and his face set. Mel said nothing and sat by him, very quiet.
The taxi rolled on and stopped again, and Lane had audience with
another minister. He was repulsed here also.

"We're trying a magistrate," said Lane, when the car stopped again.

"But, Daren. This is where Gerald Hartley lives. Not him, Daren.
Surely you wouldn't go to him?"

"Why not?" inquired Lane.

"It hasn't been two months since he married Helen Wrapp. Hadn't you
heard?"

"I'd forgotten," said Lane.

"Besides, Daren, he--he once asked me to marry him--before the war."

Lane hesitated. Yes, he now remembered that in the days before the war
the young lawyer had been Mel's persistent admirer. But a reckless
mood had begun to manifest itself in Lane during the last hour, and it
must have communicated its spirit to Mel, for she made no further
protest. The world was against them. They were driving to the home of
the man she had refused to marry, who had eventually married a girl
who had jilted Lane. In an ordinary moment they would never have
attempted such a thing. The mansion before which the car stopped was
well lighted; music and laughter came faintly through the bright
windows.

A maid opened the door to Lane and showed him into a drawing-room. In
a library beyond he saw women and men playing cards, laughing and
talking. Several old ladies were sitting close together, whispering
and nodding their heads. A young fair-haired girl was playing the
piano. Lane saw the maid advance and speak to a sharp-featured man
whom he recognized as Hartley. Lane wanted to run out of the house.
But he clenched his teeth and swore he would go through with it.

"Mr. Hartley," began Lane, as the magistrate came through the
curtained doorway, "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion. My errand is
important. I've come to ask you to marry me to a lady who is waiting
outside."

When Hartley recognized his visitor he started back in astonishment.
Then he laughed and looked more closely at Lane. It was a look that
made Lane wince, for he understood it to relate to his mental
condition.

"Lane! Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Going to get married! You honor
me. The regular fee, which in my official capacity I must charge, is
one dollar. If you can pay that I will marry you."

"I can pay," replied Lane, quietly, and his level steady gaze
disconcerted Hartley.