had written in his letter and many things more, until Betty Jo
could restrain herself no longer, but ran to him, and took the book from
his hands, and, with her arms around his neck, told him that he was the
dearest uncle in the world, because she was going to marry the man who
wrote the book he so admired.

There were long explanations after that: How the book so highly valued
by Banker Ward had actually been written in that very log house by the
river; how Auntie Sue had sent for Betty Jo to assist the author with
her typewriting; how the author, not knowing who Betty Jo was, had
fallen in love with his stenographer, and, finally, how Betty Jo's
author-lover was even then waiting to meet her guardian, still not
knowing that her guardian was the banker Homer T. Ward.

"You see, uncle, dear," explained Betty Jo, "Auntie Sue and I were
obliged to conspire this little conspiracy against my man, because, you
know, authors are funny folk, and you never can tell exactly what they
are going to do. After giving your heart to a genius as wonderful as you
yourself know this one to be, it would be terrible to have him refuse
you just because you were the only living relative of a rich old
banker;--it would, wouldn't it, uncle, dear?"

And, really, Homer T. Ward could find reason in Betty Jo's argument,
which ended with that fatal trick question.

Taking his agreement for granted, Betty Jo continued: "And, you see,
Auntie Sue and I were simply forced to conspire a little against you,
uncle, dear, because you know perfectly well that, much as I needed the
advantage of associating with such an author-man in the actual writing
of his book, you would never, never have permitted me to fall in love
with him before you had discovered for yourself what a great man he
really is, and I simply had to fall in love with him because God made
me to take care of a genius of some sort. And if you don't believe that,
you can ask Judy. Judy has found out a lot about God lately.

"You won't think I am talking nonsense, or am belittling the occasion
will you, uncle, dear?" she added anxiously. "I am not,--truly, I am
not,--I am very serious. But I can't help being a little excited, can I?
Because it is terrible to love a banker-uncle, as I love you, and at
the same time to love a genius-man, as I love my man, and--and--not know
what you two dearest men in the world are going to do to each other."

And, at this, the girl's arms were about his nec