d?" she persisted. "Do you really love me?"

Abruptly he released her hand and sat up. In his eyes flashed the same
ardor as before, but somehow the expression of his face had changed.
He was no longer the eager unsophisticated lover, ready to do
anything, say anything, in order to gain his end, but the resourceful,
masterly man, accustomed to direct and control his own affairs, the
man who will brook no interference with his will, even from the woman
who may bear his name. Slowly, almost coldly, he replied:

"You wish for the truth?"

"Yes."

He drew himself up and looked her squarely in the face. There was
nothing of the lover in his manner now. An observer would have thought
he was discussing with her some matter of business. And to him it was
a matter of business--a matter to be discussed from every point of
view and, above all, honestly. There must be no misunderstanding from
the start. In this, he thought as she did. Their opinions on this one
point were in curious harmony. He would not lie to her. He would make
her his wife, give her all the money, all the furbelows, all the
luxuries her heart desired, but he would not pretend something that
was not. He would play cards upon the table. Guardedly he said:

"I feel always that I want to be near you, to be tender to you, to
look after and guard you, shield you from all trouble and harm--if
that is love, then I love you."

"And if I don't consider that--love?" she demanded, with a little
nervous laugh.

The millionaire shook his head.

"Then I am afraid that I shall never love any one," he said. "You see,
life with me has been one long fight. As a boy, I fought for bread; as
a youth, I fought for an education, as a man, I fought for success.
Everything I possess to-day I have wrested from the world, and while
getting it I have been too busy for romance and love-making. But I
think this will prove what regard I have for you. I have been
attracted to many women, but you are the only woman I have ever asked
to marry me. I await your answer. Will you be my wife?"

The girl looked up at him, gazing earnestly Into his eyes, as if
trying to read there if he was the kind of a man to whom a girl might
entrust her happiness. Slowly she said:

"You don't even trouble to ask if I love you?"

"I don't expect you to--yet," he answered, with a smile.

"And you would have me marry you, knowing that I do not love you?"

"But I think you like me--a little. Don't you?"