"It does! It does!" he a.s.sented glumly, and fell to staring into the fire as if therein he could bring it all back to vision. "We agreed, then, that some day when summer came again, we'd do it all over. And now--there will be no more summers!"

Unconsciously he had betrayed himself in a despair of voice and twitch of movement.

"Are--are you sorry?" she asked, softly. "Are you sorry that Bill Jones and Mary Allen are finished?"

All his previous resolutions were forgotten, swept away as it by the hand of grief. All his pre-imagined repression vanished. He was but the heart-broken jester now, impulsive, outspoken.

"Oh, if I could live these few times over again, I think I could die happy! Mary! Mary! I never knew until yesterday how precious they were.

Never knew that when Bill Jones died, the heart of me died with him!

I'm--I'm----" He checked himself, shut his hands tightly over the arms of his chair, and exclaimed, "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to tell you anything; because I've no right to say anything of the sort to you--now that Bill Jones is dead! I can't seem to remember that he was executed in that moment when you told me of your betrothal."

She abruptly dropped the steaming kettle back into the fender and he feared that she thus indicated resentment of his outburst. She got to her feet and walked across to the window where the rapidly waning light seemed hastily pulling drop curtains over their brief romance and he, fearful that he had offended her, sat dejectedly in his chair.

"One imagines many things! One is curious about them, sometimes," she said, softly. "And so--and so I wonder what you would have said, if Bill Jones had not pa.s.sed out."

She stood as if considering something of grave importance and then, as if resolved, turned and came back until she stood near the chair in which he sat with bent head and shoulders, so unlike the buoyant, erect man she had known.

"It is but a week ago when being--being somewhat tired of neglect, I wrote a letter. Oh, I could kick myself for that! I suppose it must have been rather--let's say--familiar. It was addressed to Judge Granger. By return mail came a proposal of marriage and--well--I accepted it. Then he came on and--oh, it was a dreadful mixup! After just one evening together I knew that he wasn't, and never could have been, Bill Jones, the Pirate. And I didn't know what to do, or who, or what Bill Jones really was, and--and I was furious, disappointed and humiliated, and then you returned and--and----"

She paused and he looked up to find that her eyes were not on him, and that she was twisting her wisp of a handkerchief between her fingers quite as if considering whether such fury, disappointment and humiliation could ever be forgiven. He felt that he was on trial and that his future hung upon her judgment.

"But--but--it wasn't altogether my fault--Mary," he pleaded in a voice in which contrition, distress and desire were eloquently blended. "I didn't mean to be dishonest. Coward I may have been but--but--oh, Mary!

What can I say or do to be forgiven? To be at least kindly remembered?"

He bent forward again, resting his elbows on his knees and clutching his temples in his palms as if utterly given over to despair. It seemed to him that there was a prolonged wait in which she was coming to her decision, an interval filled with portent and so lifeless and still that tiny sounds from without became magnified.

Her voice, hesitant, and low, but, to his relief, gentle, broke the interminable spell.

"Suppose--suppose I were to tell you that--that I'm not going to marry Judge Granger, because after you came here yesterday I knew how impossible it was and wrote and told him so. And----"

"Mary! Mary, don't make it supposit.i.tious," he appealed, leaping to his feet. "That would be cruelty! Tell me that it's true, and that I am free to tell you that I love you--love you! You know that I do, and that there's no use in my trying to hide it."

She retreated from him a trifle, as if to escape his impetuosity, then, when he paused as if fearing to frighten her with his ardor, smiled at him and said, "Yes, Bill Jones. It's true!"

He caught her in his arms. For a moment he held her close while she made her last resistance, and then slowly lifted her hands upward until they came to rest about his shoulders.

"That's why I made you promise to come back," she said. "I--I couldn't let you go! I couldn't! I don't care what anyone thinks of it, I am what I am, and--I love you!"

They were suddenly aware of heavy steps climbing the studio stairs and she pushed him away hurriedly, bashfully.

"My Father!" she whispered. "I--I forgot that he was coming to get me.

But--you'll love Dad," and then, as if suddenly remembering something, she laughed softly and added hastily, "I don't believe you even know my name. Don't forget it, now that Mary Allen is dead. My name is Sayers--Margaret Sayers, and my father's name is Sayers, Thomas Sayers, and he's in the motor business and--for heaven's sake!--pretend we've known each other for years and years!"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy, panic-stricken, as she hastened toward the door. "Tom Sayers! My job's gone bust! I'm done!"

The door opened and her hand swept up to a light switch in the lintel, there was a click, and the room was brilliant.

"Dad," she said, trying to suppress some trepidation of voice, "I want you to know Mr. Gollop. And I'd like to have you like him, because you see, I'm going to marry him, if you do."

Jimmy had been tempted to run; but now stood bending his head forward, blinking, and holding his breath in astonishment

"Martin--Martin--Mr. Martin--and you are not Martin, but are Mr. Sayers, and----"

But the man he had known as Martin smiled, for the moment ignored him, permitted his daughter to cling to him, and as he caressed her hair with tender fingers, said soothingly, "There! There! Don't be afraid of me, my girl. I've known this boy Jim for some time. I knew that he knew you, and I satisfied myself what sort he was, too, before things went too far. I never did like Granger. When you first told me that you had met Granger here in New York, I knew it couldn't be so, because I had seen him going through Media City on the previous day to keep some political appointment. And then I met Jim, and--I fooled him a little bit because I wanted to know just what sort of a man it was who had dared to look at you, and to take you to a horse show. Let go now! Let go, while Jim and I shake hands. But--inasmuch as your mother has always belonged to the Granger party, I suppose--I suppose she'll just raise h.e.l.l! That's a part of the affair that I reckon you two had best leave to me. There's time enough, because, mark you both, there'll be no wedding bells in this firm until Jim satisfies me that he can make good."

And then he turned discreetly to hang up his overcoat and hat as if unaware that Mary Allen, struggling artist, and Bill Jones, Pirate, jubilant and unabashed, were again in each others' arms.

THE END

FLORENCE L. BARCLAY'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER

A novel of the 12th Century. The heroine, believing she had lost her lover, enters a convent. He returns, and interesting developments follow.

THE UPAS TREE

A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful author and his wife.

THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE

The story of a seven day courtship, in which the discrepancy in ages vanished into insignificance before the convincing demonstration of abiding love.

THE ROSARY

The story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty above all else in the world, but who, when blinded through an accident, gains life's greatest happiness. A rare story of the great pa.s.sion of two real people superbly capable of love, its sacrifices and its exceeding reward.

THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE

The lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the death of a husband who never understood her, meets a fine, clean young chap who is ignorant of her t.i.tle and they fall deeply in love with each other. When he learns her real ident.i.ty a situation of singular power is developed.

THE BROKEN HALO

The story of a young man whose religious belief was shattered in childhood and restored to him by the little white lady, many years older than himself, to whom he is pa.s.sionately devoted.