he assured him. "But I 'm wondering if
you'll mind--having me around?"

"I did n't realize until this last week how--well, how comfortable it
was having you around," he confessed.

She glanced up.

"Yes," she said, "that's the word. I think we've made each other
comfortable. After all--that's something."

"It's a whole lot."

"And it need n't ever be anything else, need it?"

"Certainly not," he declared. "That would spoil everything. That's
what we're trying to avoid."

To his surprise, she suddenly rose as if to leave.

"Look here!" he exclaimed. "Can't we settle this right now--so that we
won't have to worry about it?"

He disliked having anything left to worry about.

"I should think the least you'd expect of me would be to think it
over," she answered.

"It would be so much simpler just to go ahead," he declared.

There seemed to be no apparent reason in the world why she should not
assent to Monte's proposal. In and of itself, the arrangement offered
her exactly what she craved--the widest possible freedom to lead her
own life without let or hindrance from any one, combined with the least
possible responsibility. As far as she could see, it would remove once
and for all the single fretting annoyance that, so far, had disarranged
all her plans.

Monte's argument was sound. Once she was married, the world of men
would let her alone. So, too, would the world of women. She could
face them both with a challenge to dispute her privileges. All this
she would receive without any of the obligations with which most women
pay so heavily for their release from the bondage in which they are
held until married. For they pay even more when they love--pay the
more, in a way, the more they love. It cannot be helped.

She was thinking of the Warrens--the same Warrens Monte had visited
when Chic, Junior had the whooping cough. She had been there when
Chic, Junior was born. Marion had wanted her near--in the next room.
She had learned then how they pay--these women who love.

She had been there at other times--less dramatic times. It was just
the same. From the moment Marion awoke in the morning until she sank
wearily into her bed at night, her time, her thought, her heart, her
soul almost, was claimed by some one else. She gave, gave, until
nothing was left for herself.

Marjory, in her lesser way, had done much the same--so she knew the
cost. It was rare when she had been able to leave her