for him, he would believe it and
expect her to prove it, not in accordance with her notions of the
obligation created, but in accordance with his own. There lay the
difficulty, for he was all ideals, and she, as I suspected, had none.
There would be damage done, spiritual damage to Jerry, but what might
happen to Marcia? Jerry was innocent, but he was no fool, and with all
his gentleness he wasn't one to be imposed upon. Flynn had understood
him. He was polite and very gentle, but Sagorski, the White Hope, knew
what he was when aroused. I wondered if Marcia Van Wyck with all her
cleverness might miss this intuition.

Dinner time found the boy quiet and preoccupied. If he hadn't been
Jerry I should have said he was sullen. That he was not himself was
certain. It was not until he had lighted his cigarette after dinner
that he was sure enough of himself to speak.

"What made you talk of Una to Marcia, Roger?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't," I said coolly. "_You_ did, Jerry. And if I had, I can't
see what it matters."

"It does a little, I think. You see, Marcia knows who she is. Una gave
a false name. She wouldn't care to have people know she had come in
here alone."

This was a reason, but of course not the real one. It wasn't like
Jerry to mask his purposes in this fashion. I laughed at him.

"If you'll remember, Jerry, I mentioned no names."

"But why mention the incident at all?"

"Because to tell the truth," I said frankly, "I thought Miss Marcia
Van Wyck entirely too self-satisfied."

He opened his eyes wide and stared at me. "Oh!" he said.

And then after the pause:

"You don't like Marcia?"

"No," I replied flatly, "I don't."

He paced the length of the room, while I sat by a lamp and
ostentatiously opened the evening paper.

"I hope you realize," he said presently, with a dignity that would
have been ridiculous if it hadn't been pathetic, "that Miss Van Wyck
is a very good friend of mine."

"Is she?" I asked quietly.

"Yes--I'm very fond of her."

"Are you?" still quietly.

"Yes." He walked the floor jerkily, made a false start or so and then
brought up before me with an air of decision. "I--I'm sorry you don't
like her, Roger. I--I should be truly grieved if I--I thought you
meant it. For I intend some day to ask her to be my--my--wife."

It was as bad as that? I dropped pretense and the newspaper, folding
my arms and regarding him steadily.

"Isn't this decision--er--rather sudden?" I a