elings towards her had undergone a change. The
idea of marriage had come to him, a thing he had never considered
seriously before. Little by little it grew on him that he would prefer
to have Joan Meredyth for a wife rather than in any other capacity. He
could have been so proud of her beauty, her birth and her breeding.

And now everything had undergone a change. The bottom had fallen out of
his little world of romance. He stood there, gasping and clutching at
the edge of the table, while he listened to the man in the adjoining
room offering marriage to Joan Meredyth "as the only possible atonement"
he could make her!

Naturally, Mr. Philip Slotman could not understand in the least why or
wherefore; it was beyond his comprehension.

And now he stood listening eagerly, holding his breath waiting for her
answer.

Would she take him, this evidently rich man? If so, then good-bye to all
his hopes, all his chances.

Within the room the two faced one another in momentary silence. A flush
had come into the girl's cheeks, making her adorable. For an instant the
coldness and hardness and bitterness were all gone, and Hugh Alston had
a momentary glimpse of the real woman, the woman who was neither hard,
nor cold, but was womanly and sweet and tender.

And then she was her old self again, the bitterness and the anger had
come back.

"I thank you for making everything so clear to me, your wealth and
position and your desire to make--to make amends for the insult and the
shame you have put on me. I need hardly say of course that I refuse!"

"Why?"

"Did you ever expect me to accept? I think you did not!"

She gave him a slight inclination of the head and, turning, went out of
the room, and Hugh Alston stood staring at the door that had closed on
her.

CHAPTER VIII

THE DREAM GIRL

"She is utterly without generosity; she is cold and hard and bitter, and
she has made a mountain out of a molehill, built up a great grievance on
what was, after all, only a foolish and ill-considered statement. She is
pleased to feel herself deeply insulted, and she hates me for what I did
in perfect innocence. I have done all that I can do. I have offered to
make amends in the only way I can think of, and she refuses to accept
either that or my apologies. Very well, then... But what a lovely face
it is, and for just that moment, when the hardness and bitterness were
gone..." He paused; his own face softened. One could not be ang