his wife. Puts him in a false position."

"Not if he really loved her. How could it? He'd realise then that in a
life together there would be no `yours' or `mine.' It would all be
`_ours_.'"

Stanor lifted his head to look at her, and Pixie's clear eyes met his in
a full frank gaze which held no shadow of embarrassment. Here was
something quite new--a girl who could speak about love to a young man
without a trace of self-consciousness or flirtation, yet with an
earnestness which demonstrated a keen personal interest. Stanor had
many girl friends with whom he had often discussed the subject, but
invariably a certain amount of self-consciousness had crept in, which
had shown itself alternately in cynicism or sentimentality.

Now, to his own amazement, he realised that _he_ was the one to feel
embarrassment, while Pixie confided her sentiments as placidly as if he
had been a maiden aunt. He stared at her as she stood before him, a
trim, quaint little figure enveloped in a print overall, beneath which
her feet appeared absurdly small and doll-like, and as he looked his
heart gave a curious, unexpected leap. He had felt that leap before,
and the meaning of it was no mystery to him, though in this particular
instance it was sufficiently astonishing.

Handsome, accomplished, the presumptive heir to a fortune, Stanor
Vaughan had been a pet of society for the last half-dozen years, and
being by nature susceptible to girlish charm had more than once imagined
himself seriously in love. There had been, for example, that beautiful
blonde whose society had turned a summer holiday into a veritable idyll.
He had been on the verge of proposing to her when his uncle had
suddenly summoned him home, and--well, somehow the restless misery of
the first few days had disappeared with surprising rapidity, the vision
had grown dim, and finally faded from sight.

Again it had been a charming brunette, and this time he had been sure of
himself, perfectly sure. He was awaiting an opportunity to speak when
again a summons had arrived, a pleasant one this time, since it took the
form of an invitation to accompany his uncle on a prolonged continental
tour. There had been no time to think. He had barely time to pack his
bag and be off. And at the end of a month, well! He had begun to
hesitate and doubt, and the episode ended like the first.

Curious, when he came to think about it, how the Runkle had in both
cases played the part o