y right now," pleaded Monte.

He turned eagerly toward the door.

"If you don't come away, Monte," she said quietly, "I won't ever send
for you again."

Reluctantly he followed her up the stairs as the bell jangled harshly,
wildly.

CHAPTER IV

A PROPOSAL

Dejectedly, Monte seated himself upon a trunk in the midst of a scene
of fluffy chaos. Marie had swooped in from the next room, seized one
armful, and returned in consternation as her mistress stood poised at
the threshold. Then, with her face white, Marjory closed the door and
locked it.

"He's down there," she informed Monte.

Monte glanced at his watch.

"It's quarter of twelve," he announced. "I'll give him until twelve to
leave."

Marjory crossed to the window and stared out at the sun-lighted street.
It was very beautiful out there--very warm and gentle and peaceful.
And at her back all this turmoil. Once again the unspoken cry that
sprang to her lips was just this:--

"It is n't fair--it is n't fair!"

For ten years she had surrendered herself to Aunt Kitty--surrendered
utterly the deep, budding years of her young womanhood. To the last
minute she had paid her obligations in full. Then, at the moment she
had been about to spread her long-folded wings and soar into the
sunshine, this other complication had come. When the lawyer informed
her of the fortune that was hers, she had caught her breath. It
spelled freedom. Yet she asked for so little--for neither luxuries nor
vanities; for just the privilege of leading for a space her own life,
undisturbed by any responsibility.

Selfish? Yes. But she had a right to be selfish for a little. She
had answered that question when Peter Noyes--Monte reminded her in many
ways of Peter--had come down to her farm in Littlefield one Sunday.
She had seen more of Peter than of any other man, and knew him to be
honest. He had been very gentle with her, and very considerate; but
she knew what was in his heart, so she had put the question to herself
then and there. If she chose to follow the road to which he silently
beckoned--the road to all those wonderful hopes that had surged in upon
her at eighteen--she had only to nod. If she had let herself go, she
could have loved Peter. Then--she drew back at so surrendering
herself. It meant a new set of self-sacrifices. It meant, however
hallowed, a new prison. Because, if she loved, she would love hard.

Monte glanced at his watch again.

"F