he only thing in the world that really
counts.'"

She smiled triumphantly, but wistfully. And Hillyer was still silent.

"Daddy wasn't very good at quoting Scripture," she went on musingly,
"but he used to say: 'Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a
stalled ox and hatred therewith.'"

"But there isn't any hatred therewith!" cried Hillyer desperately. "I
love you, Marion, and if you don't love me--you don't hate me. So
there's more than half of it, and--can't we trust the future a little
bit?"

"No."

"But what are you going to do?" he asked, shifting his line of
attack.

"I don't know," she replied, with a helpless gesture.

"You can't go back to New York without money enough to take your
proper place in the world. Of course, if you'll let me, I'll--"

"Robert!" she interrupted sharply.

"Well, I mean it just the same!" he replied stoutly. "I've got to
take care of you, and if you won't--See here, Marion! I simply
refuse to be turned down this way. I'll not take your stubborn, whimsy
little 'no' for my answer. You're on my hands, thank God! whether you
like it or not. Maybe you won't love me. Maybe you won't marry me.
We'll see about that! But I'm going to look after you--I'm going to
take care of you, just the same--and you can just stop tightening
those lips--they're not as red as they ought to be--and you can make
up your mind that you can boss me so far and no farther."

Marion smiled at him indulgently, but gratefully, and even a little
proudly; for she had been very proud of him in the days when only
friendship was spoken of. She did not in the least resent his speech;
but neither did she answer him.

"It's getting late, Robert," she said, shivering a little.

"So it is," he replied. "And you've no warm wrap for the night air."

He drew the lap-robe around her, and started the automobile. Through
the gathering night they drove, almost without speaking, to
Huntington's, where the best supper that Claire could contrive from
the limited stores at her disposal awaited the prodigal. There was
naturally some constraint at table. Huntington had made his peace with
Hillyer, having apologized humbly, and expatiated on the cause of his
wrath. But he did not know how he stood with Marion, who had been a
long time in the camp of the enemy, and who doubtless knew too of his
speech about her trunks. He had not dared to ask Hillyer whether he
had related that incident to her, and he felt the need of extr