masculine fight he made of it. Even his tricks of word and
tactic, which she instantly divined, moved her almost to tears; but
she feared terribly that if she met his gaze she might not be able to
resist his huge helplessness, and that she might be compelled to do
whatever he begged of her even in despite of her own wishes.

The interval which followed his question weighed heavily upon them
all. It was only broken by Mrs. Makebelieve, who began to hum a song
as she polished the fire grate. She meant to show her careless
detachment from the whole matter, but in the face of Mary's silence
she could not keep it up. After a few moments she moved around and
said:--

"Why don't you answer the gentleman, Mary?"

Mary turned and looked at her, and the tears which she had resisted so
long swam in her eyes: although she could keep her features composed
she had no further command over her tears.

"I'll answer whatever you ask me, mother," she whispered.

"Then, tell the gentleman whether you will marry him or not."

"I don't want to marry any one at all," said Mary.

"You are not asked to marry any one, darling," said Mrs. Makebelieve,
"but some one--this gentleman here whose name I don't happen to know.
Do you know his name?"

"No," said Mary.

"My name...." began the policeman.

"It doesn't matter, Sir," said Mrs. Makebelieve. "Do you want to marry
this gentleman, Mary?"

"No," whispered Mary.

"Are you in love with him?"

Mary turned completely away from him.

"No," she whispered again.

"Do you think you ever will be in love with him?"

She felt as a rat might when hunted to a corner. But the end must be
very near; this could not last forever because nothing can. Her lips
were parched, her eyes were burning. She wanted to lie down and go
asleep and waken again laughing to say--"it was a dream."

Her reply was almost inaudible. "No," she said.

"You are quite sure? It is always better to be quite sure."

She did not answer any more, but the faint droop of her head gave the
reply her mother needed.

"You see, Sir," said Mrs. Makebelieve, "that you were mistaken in your
opinion. My daughter is not old enough yet to be thinking of marriage
and such like. Children do be thoughtless. I am sorry for all the
trouble she has given you, and"--a sudden compunction stirred her, for
the man was standing up now, and there was no trace of Mrs. O'Connor
visible in him: his face was as massive and harsh as a piece of