to find
her companion's gaze resting upon the distant horizon.

"You have decided?" she asked archly; "where does the girl come in?"

"Oh, she'll come in all right at the finish, I've no doubt," Cosden
replied. "I'm taking you at your word, and I'm talking to you just as I
would to a man. I want you to tell me what I ought to do to make sure
that nothing goes wrong. I've always got what I've gone after, and it
would break me all up to come a cropper just because I hadn't handled
the matter right."

"Have you given the prospective bride any suggestion of your
intentions?" Edith inquired, her eyes again drooping.

"Not a word. That's not my way. I always plan things out to the finish,
and then it's plain sailing to the end."

"Have you reason to think she cares for you?"

"She has no more idea that I think of marrying anybody than you had
before I began to tell you; but I don't see why she should have any
special objection to me. The whole point is, I'm somewhat older than
she, and I'm not sure that I speak the same language."

Edith's mind executed some lightning mathematical calculations, and she
wondered if he were older than he looked.

"There is not too much difference, I am sure."

"Just eighteen years," Cosden announced with finality.

The color left Edith's face, and then it returned with greater strength.
Her surprise showed only in her snapping eyes, for she held herself well
in hand; but her mind was working fast. She was thankful enough that he
had been so wrapped up in himself that he was oblivious to her mistake.

"It would serve him right if I did marry him, to pay him back for this,"
was what her eyes said, but the words she spoke fitted well enough into
Cosden's understanding.

"Well, of course, eighteen years is a good deal--"

"Just the proper handicap." Cosden repeated the phrase he had used in
his discussion with Huntington. "Women grow old faster than men."

Edith bit her lip to hold back the caustic reply which was almost
spoken. He certainly was intent upon his purpose, but that did not
excuse his lack of gallantry. His friend could give him points on that!
The responsibility she had told Huntington she would assume became a
real one!

"Perhaps," she seemed to assent; "but of course it makes a difference
who the girl is. If I knew her--"

"You know her all right; it's Merry Thatcher."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as if the identity was a complete surprise. "Yes,
you would have to plan