laundered handkerchiefs dipped in turpentine, she
gently rubbed it clean. It then looked (as she said later in a feeble
attempt to palliate her subsequent conduct) very pink and boyish and
pathetic, but somehow faithful and reliable and altogether lovable.

So she kissed it. Then she tried to run away. The attempt failed.

It was not Barbran's nose that got kissed next. Nor, for that matter,
was it young Phil's. Then he held her off and shut his eyes, for the
untrammeled exercise of his reasoning powers, and again demanded of
Barbran and the fates:

"What's the use?"

"What's the use of what?" returned Barbran tremulously.

"Of all this? Your father's a millionaire, and I won't--I can't--"

"He isn't!" cried Barbran. "And you can--you will."

"He isn't?" ejaculated Phil. "What is he?"

"He's a school-teacher, and I haven't got a thing but debts."

Phil received this untoward news as if a flock of angels, ringing joy
bells, had just brought him the gladdest tidings in history. After an
interlude he said:

"But, why--"

"Because," said Barbran, burrowing her nose in his coat: "I thought it
would be an asset. I thought people would consider it romantic and it
would help business. See how much that reporter made of it! Phil!
Wh-wh-why are you treating me like a--a--a--dumbbell?"

For he had thrust her away from him at arm's-length again.

"There's one other thing between us, Barbran."

"If there is, it's your fault. What is it?"

"Harvey Wheelwright," he said solemnly. "Do you really like that
sickening slush-slinger?"

She raised to him eyes in which a righteous hate quivered. "I loathe
him. I've always loathed him. I despise the very ink he writes with and
the paper it's printed on."

When I happened in a few minutes later, they were ritually burning the
"Dear Friend and Admirer" letter in a slow candle-flame, and Harvey
Wheelwright, as represented by his unctuously rolling signature, was
writhing in merited torment. Between them they told me their
little romance.

"And he's not going to Kansas City," said Barbran defiantly.

"I'm not going anywhere, ever, away from Barbran," said young Phil.

"And he's going to paint what he wants to."

"Pictures of Barbran," said young Phil.

"And we're going to burn the Wheel sign in effigy, and wipe off the
walls and _make_ the place a success," said Barbran.

"And we're going to be married right away," said Phil.

"Next week," said Barbran.

"What do y