f a secretary. I was about to start
off on a long trip in the yacht--Spain, Southern France, Algiers.
Stocked all up. Supplies, crew, captain--everything all ready. 'I don't
care what becomes of 'em,' I said, when I got news where you were. 'I
don't care. Throw 'em overboard. Guests too. I don't give a hang. Throw
them over--Lady Dunbarton, and the Grand Duke too. Drown 'em! There's
somebody back in New York who has hung out her little Come-hither sign
for me, and I'm off for the little home-burg in the morning.'"

"Come-hither sign! O Breck, you're mistaken. I----"

"Hold on, my innocent little child, I wasn't born day before yesterday.
But let that go. I won't insist. I've come anyhow." He leaned forward.
"I'm as crazy about you as ever," he said earnestly. "I never cared a
turn of my hand for any one but you. Queer too, but it's so. I'm not
much on talking love--the real kind, you know--but I guess it must be
what I feel for you. It must be what is keeping me from snatching away
that silly stuff there in your hand, and having you in my arms
now--whether you'd like it or not. Say," he went on, "I've come home to
make this house really yours, and to give you the right of asking what
I'm doing around here. You've won all your points--pomp, ceremony, big
wedding, all the fuss, mater's blessing. The mater is just daffy about
you--ought to see her letters. You're a winner, you're a great little
diplomat, and I'm proud of you too. I shall take you everywhere--France,
England, India. You'll be a queen in every society you enter--you will.
By Jove--you will. Here in New York, too, you'll shine, you little
jewel; and up there at Hilton, won't we show them a few things? You bet!
Say--I've come to ask you to marry me. Do you get that? That's what I've
come for--to make you Mrs. Breckenridge Sewall."

I sat very quietly sewing through this long speech of Breck's. The calm,
regular sticking in and pulling out of my needle concealed the tumult of
my feelings. I thought I had forever banished my taste for pomp and
glory, but I suppose it must be a little like a man who has forsworn
alcohol. The old longing returns when he gets a smell of wine, and sees
it sparkling within arm's reach.

As I sat contemplating for a moment the bright and brilliant picture of
myself as Breck's wife, favored by Mrs. Sewall, envied, admired by my
family, homaged by the world, the real mistress of this magnificent
house, I asked myself if perhaps fate,