me sort of uninteresting contentment of which
Mary boasted.

He found Beatrice in a furore of tears and protests, angered at
missing the dinner engagement and not understanding why any of it was
necessary. She felt her own territory had been infringed upon, since
making a scene was her peculiar form of mental intoxication.

But Steve was composed, even smiling, and as he came up to her she
fancied her father had made everything all right as his check book had
seen fit to do upon so many occasions. The slight worry over Steve's
possible folly vanished, and she felt it safe to proceed to reproach
him for having been so horrid.

"Now, my dear Stevuns, why did you get me all upset? And yourself and
poor papa, to say nothing of my having to send word at the last moment
that we could not attend the dinner. Oh, Steve, Steve, will you ever
be really tamed?"

"Come and sit beside me." He drew out a notebook and pencil. "I must
tell you some things."

Rather curious, she obeyed, but keeping a discreet distance so her
frock would not be ruffled. "I'm still cross," she warned.

Steve was writing down figures, adding them and making notations.

"Look here, dear," he began, patiently; "this is just where I shall
stand--a poor man to your way of thinking, almost as poor as when I
set out to win you. I'm going into a salaried job for a few years--a
real hope-to-die job--and we can have a house----"

"I thought we talked that all out before," she interrupted, half
petulantly, half wistfully. "Why do you keep repeating yourself?
You'll be thumping your fists the first thing we know!"

"Do you fancy I am not going to do this? Are you not sufficiently
concerned to listen, to realize that I have been a blind, conceited
fool? But I have learned my lesson. I shall support my wife from now
on and live in my own house or else I shall no longer be your
husband."

"Steve!"

She opened and shut her fan quickly, then it fell to the floor. But he
did not pick it up.

"You were never keen for details, so I shall not irritate you now by
introducing them. But the fact remains that I have been made and
backed by your father merely because he wished me to be your husband.
You picked me out--and I was keen to be picked out--and he decided to
make me as proper a companion for you as possible. I am in some ways
as untried to-day as any youngster starting out; as I was when I
fancied I made the grand and initial stride by myself. Your father