long! I couldn't endure it."

"Whom have you in mind for me to--to marry?" asked the girl, coldly
curious.

"Mr. Swann has asked your hand in marriage for his son Richard. He
wants Richard to settle down. Richard is wild, like all these young
men. And I have--well, I encouraged the plan."

"_Mother!_" cried Margaret, springing up.

"Margaret, you will see"

"I despise Dick Swann."

"Why?" asked her mother.

"I just do. I never liked him in school. He used to do such mean
things. He's selfish. He let Holt and Daren suffer for his tricks."

"Margaret, you talk like a child."

"Listen, mother." She threw her arms round Mrs. Maynard and kissed her
and spoke pleadingly. "Oh, don't make me hate myself. It seems I've
grown so much older in the last year or so--and lately since this
marriage talk came up. I've thought of things as never before because
I've--I've learned about them. I see so differently. I can't--can't
love Dick Swann. I can't bear to have him touch me. He's rude. He
takes liberties.... He's too free with his hands! Why, it'd be wrong
to marry him. What difference can a marriage service make in a girl's
feelings.... Mother, let me say no."

"Lord spare me from bringing up another girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard.
"Margaret, I can't make you marry Richard Swann. I'm simply trying to
tell you what any sensible girl would see she had to do. You think it
over--both sides of the question--before you absolutely decide."

Mrs. Maynard was glad to end the discussion and to get away. In
Margaret's appeal she heard a yielding, a final obedience to her wish.
And she thought she had better let well enough alone. The look in
Margaret's clear blue eyes made her shrink; it would haunt her. But
she felt no remorse. Any mother would have done the same. There was
always the danger of that old love affair; there was new danger in
these strange wild fancies of modern girls; there was never any
telling what Margaret might do. But once married she would be safe and
her position assured.

CHAPTER VII

Daren Lane left Riverside Park, and walked in the meadows until he
came to a boulder under a huge chestnut tree. Here he sat down. He
could not walk far these days. Many a time in the Indian summers long
past he had gathered chestnuts there with Dal, with Mel Iden, with
Helen. He would never do it again.

The April day had been warm and fresh with the opening of a late
spring. The sun was now gold--rimming the low