the sandwich men, and if you form
companies--"

"My child," H. R. told her, gently, "I don't know anything about
finance. That is why I want to get father's advice about my business.
Every man to his trade. But I do know New York. I ought to, hang it! My
grandfather owned what is now the Hotel Regina, and-- Well, look here!
If by the first of June nobody even remembers that I had anything to do
with sandwiches will you marry me?"

"Yes," said Mr. Goodchild.

If H. R. could do that he was fit to be anybody's son-in-law. If he
couldn't, the annoyance would end.

"Grace?" asked H. R.

"I'm willing to take a chance for two weeks," said Mr. Goodchild,
feeling certain he was displaying Machiavellian wisdom. But Grace shook
her head.

"Everything you've done," she told H. R., "is child's play--"

"What!" interrupted H. R., indignantly. "Make New-Yorkers give money for
charity that they might have spent for their own pleasure?"

"Nothing alongside of making 'em forget that you invented sandwiches. If
it had been anything else, you might--I might--you--" She floundered
helplessly. Her life for weeks had been so full of excitement that she
could not co-ordinate her ideas quickly.

"You don't know me, dear," said H. R. "I hate to say it myself, but,
really, I'm a wonder!"

He looked so confident, so masterfully sure of himself, so little like a
dreamer, and so much like a doer, that Grace was impressed.

"Can you?" she asked, more eagerly than Mr. Goodchild liked to see. But
then H. R. had never kissed him.

"With your hand for the prize and your love for my reward? Can you ask
me if I can?"

"Yes, I can. Can you?"

"Yes!" he said. "But of course I'll need your help."

"My help?" Doubt came back into her eyes.

"Yes. This way." He took her in his arms and kissed her.

Mrs. Goodchild stared, open-eyed. Mr. Goodchild grew purple, and
shouted:

"Here! This is--"

H. R. turned to him and said, "This is all right." And again he pressed
his lips to hers and kept them pressed this time.

"I won't have it!" shrieked Mr. Goodchild, going toward the young
people, one fist upraised.

H. R. ceased kissing, and spoke rebukingly:

"What do you want me to do? Kiss her in the vestibule before ringing the
door-bell, as if we were plebeian sweethearts? Or in a taxi in the Park?
Listen: _Fear not to intrust your daughter to a man who never kisses her
save in the sight of those who brought her into this world!_" H. R.
s