by her in wondering why she didn't send him
away, he inquired, quite casually: "Anybody else in mind, old girl?" She
merely stared at him. "Hope it isn't Brady Thorpe," he went on. "He's one
of my best friends. I'd hate to think that I'd have to--"

"Go home, Percy," she said. "I'm going out,--and I'm late already. Thanks
for the orchids. Don't bother to send any more. It's just a waste of
money, old fellow. I sha'n't marry you. I sha'n't marry any one except the
man with whom I fall desperately, horribly in love,--and I'm not going to
fall in love with you, so run away."

"You weren't in love with old man Thorpe, were you?" he demanded, flushing
angrily.

"I haven't the right to be offended by that beastly remark, Percy," she
said quietly; "and yet I don't think you ought to have said it to me."

"It was meant only to remind you that it won't be necessary for you to
fall desperately, horribly in love with me," he explained, and was
suddenly conscious of being very uncomfortable for the first time in his
life. He did not like the expression in her eyes.

Her shoulders drooped a little. "It isn't very comforting to feel that any
one of my would-be husbands could be satisfied to get along without being
loved by me. No doubt I shall be asked by others besides you, Percy. I
hope you do not voice the sentiments of all the rest of them."

"I'm sorry I said it," he said, and seemed a little bewildered immediately
afterwards. He really couldn't make himself out. He went away a few
minutes later, vaguely convinced that perhaps it wouldn't be worth while
to ask her, after all. This was a new, strange Anne, and it would hurt to
be refused by her. He had never thought of it in just that way--before.

"So that is the price they put upon me, is it?" Anne said to herself. She
was regarding herself rather humbly in the mirror as she pinned on her
hat. "I am still expected to marry without loving the man who takes me. It
isn't to be exacted of me. Don't they credit me with a capacity for
loving? What do they think I am? What do they think my blood is made of,
and the flesh on my bones? Do they think that because I am beautiful I can
love no one but myself? Don't they think I'm human? How can any one look
at me without feeling that I'd rather love than be loved? The poor fools!
Any woman can be loved. What we all want more than anything else is to
_love_. And I love--I _do_ love! And I _am_ beloved. And all the rest of my
life I sh