find a Harvard man pasting paper! Dire
misgivings flashed up within her.

"Who are you?" she asked tremulously. "Would you mind telling me your
name. It--it isn't--_George!_"

He looked up in pleased surprise:

"So you know who I am?"

"N-no. But--it isn't George--is it?"

"Why, yes----"

"O-h!" she breathed. A sense of swimming faintness enveloped her: she
swayed; but an unmistakable ripping noise brought her suddenly to
herself.

"I am afraid you are tearing your skirt somehow," he said anxiously. "Let
me----"

"No!"

The desperation of the negative approached violence, and he involuntarily
stepped back.

For a moment they faced one another; the flush died out on her cheeks.

"If," she said, "your name actually is George, this--this is the most--
the most terrible punishment--" She closed her eyes with her fingers as
though to shut out some monstrous vision.

"What," asked the amazed young man, "has my name to do with----"

Her hands dropped from her eyes; with horror she surveyed him, his paste-
spattered overalls, his dingy white cap, his dinner pail.

"I--I _won't_ marry you!" she stammered in white desperation. "I _won't!_
If you're not a paper hanger you look like one! I don't care whether
you're a Harvard man or not--whether you're playing at paper hanging or
not--whether your name is George or not--I won't marry you--I won't! I
_won't!_"

With the feeling that his senses were rapidly evaporating the young man
sat down dizzily, and passed a paste-spattered but well-shaped hand
across his eyes.

Sybilla set her lips and looked at him.

"I don't suppose," she said, "that you understand what I am talking
about, but I've got to tell you at once; I can't stand this sort of
thing."

"W-what sort of thing?" asked the young man, feebly.

"Your being here in this house--with me----"

"I'll be very glad to go----"

"Wait! _That_ won't do any good! You'll come back!"

"N-no, I won't----"

"Yes, you will. Or I--I'll f-follow you----"

"What?"

"One or the other! We can't help it, I tell you. _You_ don't understand,
but I do. And the moment I knew your name was George----"

"What the deuce has that got to do with anything?" he demanded, turning
red in spite of his amazement.

"Waves!" she said passionately, "psychic waves! I--somehow--knew that
he'd be named George----"

"Who'd be named George?"

"_He!_ The--man... And if I ever--if you ever expect me to--to c-care for
a man all ove