stress and desire were eloquently blended. "I
didn't mean to be dishonest. Coward I may have been but--but--oh, Mary!
What can I say or do to be forgiven? To be at least kindly remembered?"

He bent forward again, resting his elbows on his knees and clutching his
temples in his palms as if utterly given over to despair. It seemed to
him that there was a prolonged wait in which she was coming to her
decision, an interval filled with portent and so lifeless and still that
tiny sounds from without became magnified.

Her voice, hesitant, and low, but, to his relief, gentle, broke the
interminable spell.

"Suppose--suppose I were to tell you that--that I'm not going to marry
Judge Granger, because after you came here yesterday I knew how
impossible it was and wrote and told him so. And----"

"Mary! Mary, don't make it supposititious," he appealed, leaping to his
feet. "That would be cruelty! Tell me that it's true, and that I am
free to tell you that I love you--love you! You know that I do, and that
there's no use in my trying to hide it."

She retreated from him a trifle, as if to escape his impetuosity, then,
when he paused as if fearing to frighten her with his ardor, smiled at
him and said, "Yes, Bill Jones. It's true!"

He caught her in his arms. For a moment he held her close while she made
her last resistance, and then slowly lifted her hands upward until they
came to rest about his shoulders.

"That's why I made you promise to come back," she said. "I--I couldn't
let you go! I couldn't! I don't care what anyone thinks of it, I am what
I am, and--I love you!"

They were suddenly aware of heavy steps climbing the studio stairs and
she pushed him away hurriedly, bashfully.

"My Father!" she whispered. "I--I forgot that he was coming to get me.
But--you'll love Dad," and then, as if suddenly remembering something,
she laughed softly and added hastily, "I don't believe you even know my
name. Don't forget it, now that Mary Allen is dead. My name is
Sayers--Margaret Sayers, and my father's name is Sayers, Thomas Sayers,
and he's in the motor business and--for heaven's sake!--pretend we've
known each other for years and years!"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy, panic-stricken, as she hastened toward the
door. "Tom Sayers! My job's gone bust! I'm done!"

The door opened and her hand swept up to a light switch in the lintel,
there was a click, and the room was brilliant.

"Dad," she said, trying to suppress some tr