on't WANT to marry him then that is your
business altogether and you are right in saying no. But if you SHOULD
care for him and refused him because you may have thought there was
any--er--unsuitability--er--unfitness--oh, the devil, I don't know what
to call it--if you thought there was too large an element of that in the
match, then I beg of you to reconsider, that's all. He needs you."

"Needs me? Needs ME?... Oh--oh, you must be crazy!"

"Not a bit of it. He needs you. You have all the qualities, common
sense, practicability, everything he hasn't got. It is for his sake I'm
asking this, Miss Phipps. I truly believe you have the making or marring
of his future in your hands--now. That is why I hope you will--well,
change your mind.... There! I have said it. Thank you for listening.
Good-day."

He turned to the door. She spoke once more. "Oh, you MUST be jokin'!"
she cried. "How CAN you say such things? His people--his family--"

"Family? Oh... well, I'll tell you the truth about that. When he
was young he had altogether too much family. Now he hasn't any,
really--except myself, and I have expressed my opinion. Good-by, Miss
Phipps."

He went out. Martha slowly went back to her rocking-chair and sat down.
A moment later she heard the roar of the engine as the Cabot car got
under way. The sound died away in the distance. Martha rose and went
up the stairs to her own room. There she sat down once more and
thought--and thought.

Some time later she heard her lodger's footstep--how instantly she
recognized it--in the hall and then in his bedroom. He was in that room
but a short time, then she heard him go down the stairs again. Perhaps
ten minutes afterward Primmie knocked. She wished permission to go down
to the village.

"I just thought maybe I'd go down to the meetin' house," explained
Primmie. "They're goin' to have a Sunday school concert this afternoon
at four o'clock. Zach he said he was cal'latin' to go. And besides,
Mr. Bangs he give me this letter to leave to the telegraph office, Miss
Martha."

"The telegraph office isn't open on Sundays, Primmie."

"No'm, I know 'tain't. But Ras Beebe he takes care of all the telegraphs
there is and telephones 'em over to Denboro, where the telegraph place
IS open Sundays."

"Oh, all right, Primmie, you may go. Is Mr. Bangs in?"

"No'm, he ain't. He's gone out somewheres. To walk, I cal'late. Last I
see of him he was moonin' along over towards the lighthouse way."