y him But I won't! I won't! I'd
rather die."

Her voice died chokingly away, and for five seconds it was deathly
still. Still King did not move. He heard Gratton's exclamation,
Gratton's hurried step. The man was excited, was expostulating. Other
voices; the other men had drawn aside, amazed, leaving Gratton a clear
field with his unwilling bride.

"Have you gone mad, Gloria?" King could hear the words now. "Think what
you are saying----"

"I have thought. I hate you. Go away. Let me go."

Gratton's pale eyes must be ablaze with wrath now; his tone told that.

"There's no way out for you. You've got to marry me. I----"

"Take your hand off----"

Her voice broke into a scream.

"You're hurting me----"

And now Mark King moved at last. Before the last word had done vibrating
through the still room he was through the window, taking the shortest
way. Gratton's hand was on Gloria's shoulder; King threw it off, hurling
the man backward across the room. Gloria turned to him----

"Mark!" she cried. "Oh, Mark King!"

He put his arms about her, thinking that she was going to fall. For an
instant he held her tight; he felt her heart beating as though it would
burst through her bosom.

"You won't let him----?"

He moved with her to a chair, placed her in it, and turned toward
Gratton, a look like a naked knife in his eyes.

"By jings!" muttered old Jim under his breath. "By jings!"

_Chapter XIV_

At this, the most critical moment of her life, it would appear
inevitable that Gloria must bend every mental faculty to grappling with
the vital issues. And yet, as she sat swallowed up in the big chair, for
a space of time she was in a spell, caught up and whirled away from
those about her; she forgot Gratton with the white, angry face; she had
no eyes for Mark King or for Summerling, Steve Jarrold or Jim Spalding.
She was thinking of another day, two years ago, when she and her mother
had been alone in this room. They had been busied with the last touches
of furniture arrangement; they had discussed locations for chairs and
had argued over pictures. Both tired out with a day of effort, they had
come near tears in a verbal battle over the best place for the sole
article remaining unplaced. Gloria wanted it in the hallway; Mrs. Gaynor
pleaded for it over the mantel in the living-room. Finally it was Gloria
who cried with sudden laughter:

"Oh, what _difference_ does it make? We're getting silly over trifles.