wouldn't the newspapers do when _she_ married H. R., especially if
H. R., prompted by love, really made an effort?

She was forced to admit that he was a remarkable man!

"Papa," she said aloud, "will never consent!"

Papa's life had been made miserable by H. R. Indeed, the only thing that
reconciled him to the ungrateful task of living was the steady growth of
the bank's deposits. It was due, Mr. Goodchild often declared, to his
management. But he couldn't speak about H. R. without profanity.

Parental opposition was not everything. Marriage was a serious thing.

XXVII

The motor stopped. She had arrived at her house. The car door was opened
by H. R.

She started back. Then she looked at him curiously, almost
awe-strickenly, as though her wishes had taken on magical properties of
automatic fulfilment.

Was this the same remarkable person she had almost deified on the way
from Raquin's exhibition? What would he say? She prayed that he might
not spoil everything, by some inanity.

He held out his hand to help her alight. Then he spoke.

"It was time!" he said, and walked beside her--but a couple of inches
ahead. That was because, though he was an American husband-to-be, he
also was a man, a protector, a leader. Such men are cave-men minus the
club.

Grace at times was not a true Goodchild. This time she said nothing.

Frederick opened the door. His face expressed no sense of the
unusualness of the sight.

H. R., with the air of a host, led Grace into the drawing-room. He stood
beside her in the gorgeous Louis XV. room.

"Grace," he said, gently, "for twenty-nine days I've been the unhappiest
man in all New York. For five, the unhappiest in the entire world!"

"Will you kindly release my hand?" she asked. No sooner had the words
left her lips than she realized they were piffle. Then she began to
laugh. It was the first official acknowledgment that no social barriers
divided them.

"Suppose," she asked, with a humorously intended demureness, "that I
wished to use my handkerchief?"

H. R. with his disengaged hand took his own out of his pocket and held
it to her nose.

"Blow!" he said, tenderly.

"I don't want to," she retorted and tried to pull away her hand.

He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket.

"All over but the mailing-list," he said to her. "Sit down here; by me!"

Something within her stirred to revolt. Unfortunately, he did not
release her hand, but led her to the historic