ou saw won't harm anybody. So come
to your own conclusions.... But I wish you were out of all this--with
your fine insight and your clear intelligence, and your sweetness--oh,
the chances for happiness you and I might have had!"

"A slim chance with you!" she said.

"Every chance; perhaps the only chance we'll ever have. And we've missed
it."

"We've missed nothing"--a sudden and curious tremor set her heart and
pulses beating heavily--"I tell you, Duane, it doesn't matter whom
people of our sort marry because we'll always sicken of our bargain.
What chance for happiness would I run with such a man as you? Or you
with a girl like me?"

She lay back among the cushions, with a tired little laugh. "We are like
the others of our rotten sort, only less aged, less experienced. But we
have, each of us, our own heritage, our own secret depravity." She
hesitated, reddening, caught his eye, stammered her sentence to a finish
and flinched, crimsoning to the roots of her hair.

He stood up, paced the room for a few moments, came and stood beside
her.

"Once," he said very low, "you admitted that you dare go anywhere with
me. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"Those are your rooms, I believe," pointing to a closed door far down
the south corridor.

"Yes."

"Take me there now."

"I--cannot do that----"

"Yes, you can. You must."

"Now?--Duane."

"Yes, now--_now_! I tell you our time is now if it ever is to be at all.
Don't waste words."

"What do you want to say to me that cannot be said here?" she asked in
consternation.

He made no answer, but she found herself on her feet and moving slowly
along beside him, his hand just touching her arm as guide.

"What is it, Duane?" she asked fearfully, as she laid her hand on the
knob and turned to look at his altered face.

He made no answer. She hesitated, shivered, opened the door, hesitated
again, slowly crossed the threshold, turned and admitted him.

The western sun flooded the silent chamber of rose and gray; a breeze
moved the curtains, noiselessly; the scent of flowers freshened the
silence.

There was a divan piled with silken cushions; he placed several for her;
she stood irresolute for a moment, then, with a swift, unquiet side
glance at him, seated herself.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up, her face beginning to reflect the
grave concern in his.

"I want you to marry me, Geraldine."

"Is--is _that_ what----"

"Partly. I want you to love me, too. Bu