ous calm, "who is the
girl you mean to marry?"

"The girl I _hope_ to marry is Joyce, Miss Sally. Wait--don't say
anything till you hear me out." He came close to her and caught her
hands in a boyish grip. "Joyce and I have loved each other ever since
we met. But we despaired of winning your consent, and Joyce will not
marry me without it. I thought if I could get you to help me fix up my
little home that you might get so interested in it--and so well
acquainted with me--that you would trust me with Joyce. Please do,
Miss Sally. I love her so truly and I know I can make her happy. If
you don't, Eden shall never have a mistress. I'll shut it up, just as
it is, and leave it sacred to the dead hope of a bride that will never
come to it."

"Oh, you wouldn't," protested Miss Sally. "It would be a shame--such a
dear little house--and after all the trouble I've taken. But you have
tricked me--oh, you men couldn't be straightforward in anything--"

"Wasn't it a fair device for a desperate lover, Miss Sally?"
interrupted Willard. "Oh, you mustn't hold spite because of it, dear;
And you will give me Joyce, won't you? Because if you don't, I really
will shut up Eden forever."

Miss Sally looked wistfully around her. Through the open door on her
left she saw the little living room with its quaint, comfortable
furniture, its dainty pictures and adornments. Through the front door
she saw the trim, velvet-swarded little lawn. Upstairs were two white
rooms that only wanted a woman's living presence to make them jewels.
And the kitchen on which she had expended so much thought and
ingenuity--the kitchen furnished to the last detail, even to the
kindling in the range and the match Willard had laid ready to light
it! It gave Miss Sally a pang to think of that altar fire never being
lighted. It was really the thought of the kitchen that finished Miss
Sally.

"You've tricked me," she said again reproachfully. "You've tricked me
into loving this house so much that I cannot bear the thought of it
never living. You'll have to have Joyce, I suppose. And I believe I'm
glad that it isn't a stranger who is to be the mistress of Eden. Joyce
won't hanker after pink rugs and lace curtains. And her taste in china
is the same as mine. In one way it's a great relief to my mind. But
it's a fearful risk--a fearful risk. To think that you may make my
dear child miserable!"

"You know you don't think that I will, Miss Sally. I'm not really such
a b