Sally smiled at the table. "M--my father," she returned, not at all dismally, "would disgrace you--very likely. He's a d--"

He interrupted her. "I don't care what he is, Sally," he said softly.

"I don't care about anything--but this."

"And my brother is a gambler," she went on, in a disgracefully happy voice, considering what she was saying,--"with not much hope that he will be anything else. I don't deceive myself."

"Only the greater reason," he said, more softly yet. "I want you, Sally."

"Do you? After that?"

"You may believe it--dearest."

She gave a sudden, happy little cry. "Oh, I believe it. I want to believe it. I have wanted to for more than two years--ever--since the night of the fire." She lifted her head, the tears shining in her eyes; something else shining there. "Then I don't care for--for Margaret--or--or anybody else; or any--any--thing"--her voice sank to a whisper once more--"but you."

Sally raised her eyes slowly to his. They were shy eyes, and very tender. And Fox looked into their depths and saw--but what he saw concerns only him and Sally. He seemed satisfied with what he saw. He held her closer. Sally's eyes filled slowly and overflowed at last, and she shut them.

"I'm crying because I'm so happy," she whispered.

Fox bent and kissed her. "I don't care for Margaret or for anybody else but you," he murmured, "and I never have cared for anybody else.

I don't know what you mean. Who is Margaret?"

Sally opened her eyes. "You don't know?" she asked in surprise.

"I don't know. You have spoken of her before--as if I ought to know all about her. Who is she and why must I know about her?"

She did not answer at once. Her eyes were deep and shining and, her eyes searching his, she put up her arms--slowly--slowly--about his neck. "Oh, Fox, dear!" she cried softly. "Oh, Fox, dear! And you don't know!"

She laughed low and happily. Then she drew his head down--it came readily enough--

When Sally emerged, a minute or two later, she was blushing. She seemed burning up. She hid her burning cheeks in Fox's shoulder.

"Fox," she murmured from her hiding place, "don't you remember Margaret Savage?"

"Oh, yes," he answered quite cheerfully. "She is very pretty now--very attractive to the young men--but she's as much of a fool as ever."

Sally laughed again. "And Henrietta told me," she said, "that you might succ.u.mb. So you see that, when you spoke of getting married--"

"Why, I meant you, all the time."

"Ye--es, but I didn't know that--and--and I thought that you meant Margaret and--and Henrietta's remarks set me to thinking and then--then, pretty soon, I knew that--that I loved you, Fox, and I was very unhappy. Oh, Fox, I _was_ unhappy!"

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm very sorry. Sally!"

She looked up at him and, as she looked, the red once more mounted slowly, flooding her throat and then her cheeks. Again she put her arms up and drew his head down.

The crimson flood had left her face and there was in it only a lovely color as she lay back in his arms. "Don't you love me, Fox?"

He laughed. "Love you! Love you! I should think it was--"

"Then," she asked, "why don't you say so, sir? You haven't said so yet--not once." His arms tightened about her. "Close, Fox, dear!" she whispered. "Hold me closer. I don't want to get away, ever."

It was getting late when they finally stood at a window from which they could see the little cream-colored house--they had got as far as that--and the grove behind it.

"I want to open that house," Fox was saying. "I want to live in it."

"_I_ want to live in it," Sally said.

"But," he returned quickly, "you know what must happen first. How soon, Sally?"

"Just as soon as ever I can manage it, dear. You may depend upon that.

And now I must go. I'm disgracefully late, even now."

She hastily rearranged her hair, which, strangely enough, was much disordered, and she put on her hat. Then she stood before him.

"Now, don't you be troubled about your father, Sally, or about Charlie, or anything. We will take care of those troubles together."

"As if you hadn't always tried to take those troubles off my shoulders!" She raised her radiant eyes to his. "If this is what you meant by 'paying in kind,' you shall be paid, Fox. Oh, you _shall_ be paid. And, dear, nothing troubles me now. Do you understand?

_Nothing_. Now I must run. Don't come with me. People couldn't help noticing something. Good night."

Once more she kissed him, and she was gone, walking buoyantly and turning more than once to wave to him. Fox's eyes were wet as he watched her.

"Bless you, Sally! G.o.d go with you!"

G.o.d go with you, Sally!

THE END