As Bill stepped into the hall he glanced in dull surprise at the single light that was burning there. And soon he became aware of a din in the library. For an instant his bewilderment increased. Then came sickening comprehension. The Kid was pulling it off to-night. He had changed the date. Why? And why, again, had fate summoned Aunt Caroline to the feast? Bill put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He turned fearful eyes toward his aunt.
She was already in action. On occasion she was a brisk lady, despite her years; she was not timorous. Something she did not understand was taking place in her house. She proposed to look into the matter herself. Before Bill could clutch her arm she darted along the hall and flung open the door of the library.
She never really appreciated the beauty of what she saw. Like Mary Wayne, she was untutored in its scientific nicety and its poetic movement. She merely sensed that it was red carnage, titanic, horrific. Just what happened is most easily described by referring to the official version of the eighth round, which was uncompleted in the last chapter.
The Kid rushed again, landing left and right to the head. The Bearcat wobbled. The Kid stepped back, measured his man, and sent a right to the body. TheBearcat's hands dropped to his side. The Kid drove a terrific blow to the jaw, and the Bearcat crashed over on his back, completely out.
The official version does not say that when the Bearcat prostrated himself in dreamless slumber he did so with his head lying at the feet of Aunt Caroline, who drew aside her skirts with housewifely instinct and stared down at his battered, yet peaceful countenance. The Bearcat never slept more soundly in his life; so profound was his oblivion that Aunt Caroline, in her inexperience, thought he was dead.
She looked up and saw a stout man waving an arm up and down and counting. She saw Signor Antonio Valentino, poised and panting, waiting in vain for the Bearcat to rise again. Beyond she saw, through a haze of smoke, the faces of strange men. None of these persons whom she saw as yet appeared to be aware of her own presence, or that of Bill Marshall, who was now staring over her shoulder. They were all too utterly absorbed in the slumberous bliss of this young man from Trenton.
"Ten!" said the stout man triumphantly, as though it were an achievement to count as high as ten.
Then he seized Kid Whaley's right arm and held it high in air. There was a hoarse roar of joy from the crowd. Two young men whose bodies from the waist up were clad in sleeveless jerseys rushed forward and hugged the Kid deliriously. They upset a bucket of water in their agitation, and it flowed across the parquetry, to mingle with the powdered rosin. Two other young men, similarly attired, sprang into the picture, seized the Trenton Bearcat by the heels and dragged him into an open space, where they could more readily lay hands upon him.
And then everybody at once—except, of course, the Bearcat—seemed to observe Aunt Caroline Marshall, standing in the doorway. They froze and watched. Slowly she raised a finger until it pointed at the breast of the Kid.
"Murderer!" she cried.
The Kid blinked in amazement.
"Murderer!"
The stout man who had counted so excellently shook himself and spoke.
"There ain't nobody been murdered, ma'am. Everythin's all right. He won't be asleep more'n a coupla minutes."
Aunt Caroline turned upon him in a blaze.
"Who are you? Who are all these men? What have you been doing? How do you come to be in my house?"
She surveyed her library—the wet and rosined floor, the rugs heaped in a corner, the chairs piled against the wall, the tables with men standing on their polished tops. Was it really her house? Yes; it must be. There was no mistaking that portrait of her grandfather, still looking down from its accustomed place on the wall.
She centered her gaze once more upon Signor Valentino, advancing as she did so. The signor backed away, plainly nervous.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "How dare you break into my house?"
The Bearcat had been propped up in a chair, and his seconds were squirting water over him, employing a large sponge for the purpose. He had not yet responded to the reveille. There was an uneasy stiramong the crowd. The men were trying to unfasten a window.
Aunt Caroline was still advancing when Mary Wayne pushed Bill Marshall aside and darted into the room.
"Come away! Please!" she cried, seizing Aunt Caroline's arm.
The mistress of the Marshall mansion turned a dazed glance upon the social secretary, uttered a little shriek of recognition and embraced her.
"Oh, my dear child! You're safe!"
"Of course. Please come up-stairs."
Suddenly Aunt Caroline stiffened and thrust her away.
"What doyouknow about this?" she demanded.
"Nothing—absolutely nothing. Oh,pleasecome away. You mustn't stay here."
"I am entitled to remain in my own library," said Aunt Caroline, in stern tones. "And I propose to stay here until I discover exactly what this means."
And as she stood in the middle of the cleared space, she looked far more like a conqueror than Kid Whaley.
Bill Marshall, who had been standing in an awed trance at the doorway, abruptly came to life. He leaped forward with a yell. Aunt Caroline, the Kid, the Bearcat, the seconds, the crowd—all had vanished from his vision. He saw nobody but the social secretary. Her he gathered into his arms, lifted clear of the floor and hugged violently to his breast.
"Oh, girl," he muttered. "Oh, girl, but I'm glad to see you."
Mary gasped. She struggled. She tried to pushherself free. But Bill was oblivious to all but his honest joy.
"Oh, girl!" he murmured, over and over again.
The crowd, which had been moving restlessly, became immobile again. It forgot even Aunt Caroline.
Mary Wayne writhed frantically in the grip that held her. Her feet, inches clear of the floor, beat the air impotently. She worked an arm free and tried to strike, inspired, perhaps, by a memory of the battle; but a series of futile slaps was all that resulted. She stormed at him; she tried to slay him with her eyes. But Bill Marshall only smiled happily, bent his head and kissed her on the freckles.
"Oh, girl!"
At last he set her free, placing her gently on her feet and gazing at her with an intensity of admiration that ought to have made any woman proud. But Mary was in a cyclonic state of rage and consternation. She swung an open hand against his ear with a crack that resembled a pistol-shot, and fled ignominiously from the room. Bill looked after her, nodding his head proudly and grinning wide.
"Oh, girl!" he whispered.
Aunt Caroline tapped him sharply on the arm.
"William, doyouknow what this means?"
Bill rallied from his ecstasy and began to scratch his chin. He neither knew how to approach nor to evade explanation. Kid Whaley went generously to the rescue. He had draped a bath-robe over his shoulders, and now accosted Aunt Caroline with the assurance of a gentleman who regards himself fittingly garbed for an occasion.
"It's like this," said the Kid. "We got t' have a place t' pull off this mill, see? So Bill says th' fam'ly'sgoin' off yachtin', an' we c'n come over here, where it's all quiet an' no bulls t' horn in, an' go as far as we like. He gives me th' keys an'——"
Aunt Caroline halted him with a peremptory hand, and turned to Bill.
"William Marshall, is this true?"
Bill drew a deep breath and managed to look her in the eye.
"Yes, Aunt Caroline."
"You gave this creature permission to conduct a prize-fight inmyhouse?"
"I'm afraid I did."
"And then you brought me home to be a witness——"
Kid Whaley interrupted her.
"Nothin' like that," he said. "Bill didn't know we was pullin' it off t'-night. It wasn't comin' till next week. Only I got trained down kinda fine, see? I was li'ble to go stale. So th' Bearcat, he don't mind, an' we touches it off t'-night. Y' wouldn't expect a guy t' wait till he gets stale, would y'? I ain't makin' myself a set-up f'r nobody."
Aunt Caroline eyed Kid Whaley from head to foot.
"You have never been a sculptor, of course," she said in a bitter tone. "I might have known better. Of course, I placed confidence in my nephew. I shall take care never to do so again. You are nothing but a low prize-fighter, it appears."
The Kid was beginning to glower. There is a dignity that attaches to every profession, and those who rise high should always endeavor to maintain it.
"I'm a pr'fessional athalete," said the Kid, wrappinghis robe about him. "There ain't nothin' low about me. I'm goin' t' fight th' champeen."
Aunt Caroline studied him with narrowing eyes.
"Bill, y' oughta been here," continued the Kid, turning to his patron. "Y' oughta seen th' mill. Take it from me, this Bearcat is good. He gimme a run. I got nothin' against him f'r it. Knocked him stiff in eight rounds, Bill. Say, if I'd had th' champ in here t'-night I'd 'a' done th' same thing. Bill, I'm gettin' better every time I put on th' gloves. Six months from now I'm gonna be champeen, Bill. Get me!Champeen!"
The Kid expanded his chest under his frowsy toga and glanced condescendingly at Aunt Caroline. It was time she acquired a proper perspective concerning his exact status, he thought.
"Out of my house!" she said sharply. "Out of my house—everybody!"
There was a sudden movement of the crowd, a slacking of tension. Men started crowding through the door into the hall. The Trenton Bearcat, groggy as to head and legs, went with them, supported on either side by his seconds. The stout man who had been general manager, announcer and referee, seized his coat and elbowed his way toward freedom as though seized with panic. A window had been opened and part of the crowd began flowing out through that.
Kid Whaley turned nonchalantly, sought a chair and began unlacing his fighting-shoes.
"Leave my house—at once!" commanded Aunt Caroline.
He glanced up with a confident grin.
"Y' don't think I'm goin' out th' way I am?" heinquired. "I got chucked outa this house once; I'm goin' when I get ready now."
Aunt Caroline turned to her nephew.
"William, I want this person out of the house—immediately."
"Beat it, Kid," said Bill tersely.
Kid Whaley regarded his patron with faint surprise.
"What's th' idea?" he asked. "Y' gimme th' run o' th' place. Y' gimme th' keys. Now y' want t' gimme th' bum's rush."
Bill Marshall was suddenly sick of the whole affair. He had no pride in his exploit. He was even acquiring a dislike for Antonio Valentino. And all this revulsion was quite apart from his fear of consequences at the hands of Aunt Caroline. He wanted to be rid of the whole business; he wanted a chance to go up-stairs and explain things to Mary Wayne.
"Beat it—the way you are," he ordered. "Go on, Kid."
Kid Whaley twisted his lip into a sneer.
"Gettin' cold feet, eh? That's th' way with all you rich guys. Puttin' on th' heavy stuff. Oh, well; I guess I got nothin' t' worry about. I'll be champeen in six months."
"Move quick!" said Bill sharply.
"What f'r? Just because th' old dame——"
Bill reached forth, seized the Kid by an arm and brought him to his feet with a single heave. He was beginning to get angry.
"Get out of this house," he said, shaking him. "Do you understand me?"
The Kid wrenched himself free and swung an upward blow that landed on Bill's ear.
"William!" cried Aunt Caroline.
"Don't worry about me, Aunt Caroline," said Bill grimly. "Just leave the room, please."
"I shall not leave the room. I want you to——"
"I'm going to."
And he made a rush for Kid Whaley.
Bill Marshall was a large young man. So far as the Kid was concerned, he had every advantage that goes with weight. He was also something better than a mere novice in the use of his hands. But he did not have the skill of Antonio Valentino, nothing like it; nor his experience, nor his generalship. He simply had a vast amount of determination, and he was angry.
He missed a good many blows, whereas the Kid seldom missed. But the more often Bill missed the more resolved was he that Kid Whaley should leave the house a chastened artist. One thing that encouraged him was the fact that the Kid was not really hurting him. For several minutes they utilized all the available floor space.
Aunt Caroline had retreated to a corner, where she was standing on a chair, her skirts gathered about her. Frightened? No. She was giving Bill Marshall plenty of room. There was a battle-light in her eyes. And Bill, busy as he was, began to hear her voice, coming to him as though in a strange dream:
"Will Marshall, don't you let that creature beat you! Do you hear that? William! Look out! Don't you way. I expect you to thrash him, William Marshall. I want him thrown out of this house.Thrownout! Do you hear that? William! Look out! Don't you see what he's trying to do? There! Strike him again, William. Harder! Again, William; again!"
Aunt Caroline was stepping around on the chair-seatin her agitation. Her fists were clenched; her eyes blazing; her nostrils dilated. The butler and the servants and Pete Stearns, who had crowded to the doorway, looked at her in amazement.
"Keep on, William; keep on! I want him punished. Do you understand? I want him beaten! Harder, William! There! Like that—and that! Oh, dear; I can't think—— Oh, what is it I want to say?"
What dear old Aunt Caroline wanted to say was "Atta boy!" but she had never learned how. She wanted to say it because matters were suddenly going well with Bill.
Kid Whaley, shifty as he was, had been unable to stem the tide of Bill's rushing assault. A right caught him on the tin ear, and he went down. He was on his feet in a flash. Another right caught him, and he went down again. This time he lingered for a second or two. When he got up Bill managed to land a left on the jaw. Down went the Kid. But he was game. Once more he got to his feet.
There was a shrill call from Aunt Caroline, who was now dancing on the chair.
"William, remember that you are a Marshall!"
Bill remembered.
The Kid went down. He got up. He went down. He got up. He went down—and stayed.
Bill Marshall stepped back and surveyed his work grimly. Two young men in jerseys came slinking forth from a corner and moved toward the prostrate warrior. Bill greeted the nearest with a critical inspection.
"Are you one of his seconds?" he asked.
"Uhuh."
Bill calmly let fly a punch that knocked him over two chairs.
He turned to the other youth.
"Are you a second, too?"
"No, sir," said the youth, hastily.
"You're a liar," said Bill, and knocked him over three chairs.
He stooped, lifted the quiet form of the Kid and tucked it under his arm. As he made for the door the servants gave way to him. Through the hall he marched solemnly, bearing the burden of his own making as though it were merely a feather pillow. Through the front door, down the stone steps and across the sidewalk he carried it. Pausing at the curb, he dropped Signor Antonio Valentino into the gutter.
As he reentered the house, his mood gravely thoughtful, two young men who had waved towels for the conqueror of the Trenton Bearcat slid out a side window and hurried around the corner to see what had become of their hero.
Bill encountered his aunt in the front hall. He regarded her doubtfully.
"I am very sorry, Aunt Caroline," he said quietly, "that you had to see this thing. I asked you to leave the library, if you remember."
Aunt Caroline clasped her hands and looked up at him.
"Why, William Marshall! It was perfectly splendid!"
Bill scratched his ear and shook his head helplessly.
"I give it up," he said.
Then he remembered something that had been on his mind all afternoon and evening. He wanted to see Pete Stearns. Although he had not encountered him, he took it for granted that Pete must be in the house, inasmuch as his secretary was there.
"Where's Pete Stearns?" he demanded of the butler.
"You mean your valet, sir?"
"Yes."
"He was here a moment ago, sir. Shall I look for him?"
"Tell him I'm going to lick him. No; wait. I'll look for him myself."
With stern deliberation Bill made a search of the first floor, then went up-stairs and began on the second. In his rooms he discovered the man he wanted.
"Put up your hands," said Bill quietly. "I'm going to lick you."
"Why, Bill!"
Pete was never more profoundly astonished.
"Hurry up," said Bill.
"Haven't you licked three men already? What in blazes do you want to lick me for?" demanded Pete.
"For running away with my girl."
"But I didn't do anything of the kind. Instead ofrunning away with her I brought her home, Bill. You don't understand."
"You bet I don't. Ready?"
"No, I'm not ready." And Pete sat on the couch, crossed his legs and clasped his hands around one knee. He knew that Bill Marshall would not open hostilities against a defenseless opponent. But he knew also that in order to avert ultimate castigation he must make an excellent explanation. He decided to tell the exact truth.
"Stand up and be a man," ordered Bill. "We're going to settle things right now."
Pete shook his head firmly.
"Not on your life, Bill. I'm going to tell you a story first. After that——" He shrugged. "Well, after that, if you decide to lick me, you can do it. But if you ever do lick me, Bill Marshall, remember this: I'll poison your coffee some day, if it takes me the rest of my natural life. I'm not going to be a worm. Now, listen."
While Pete was making his explanations up-stairs, Mary Wayne and Aunt Caroline were below, viewing the wreck of the library.
"Part of it was done by my nephew," remarked Aunt Caroline, as she pointed toward several overturned chairs.
Mary blushed at the mention of Aunt Caroline's nephew. Her humiliation in the presence of a crowd of strange men still rankled deep.
"It was awful of him," she said indignantly.
"Not at all," said Aunt Caroline. "Not at all, my dear. But you were not here when it happened, so you cannot be expected to understand. Do you see those chairs? My nephew knocked two men clearacross them." She viewed the wreckage almost affectionately. "And before he did that he thrashed a prize-fighter. Yes, my dear; thrashed him and carried him out of the house. Right in my presence he thrashed three men."
Mary Wayne opened her eyes wide. Was it possible she had never discovered the real Aunt Caroline before?
"He thrashed them completely," added Aunt Caroline, with a slight lift of her head. "It was most thoroughly done. I do not believe anybody in the world could have done it better than my nephew. He is very like his father."
Mary gasped.
"My nephew is a true Marshall. I am very much pleased."
"I—I'm so glad to hear it," said Mary faintly.
"Yes, indeed, my dear. Why, do you know——" Aunt Caroline paused to indicate the spot on the floor. "Right where you see me pointing he struck this vulgar prize-fighter senseless. Oh, it is absolutely true. I saw it all. I was standing on that chair over there. My nephew was here." She indicated. "The other man was standing here. It happened exactly as I am going to show you."
And Aunt Caroline proceeded to enact in pantomime the events that led to the downfall of Kid Whaley, reproducing as nearly as she could the exact methods employed by her conquering nephew. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright when she had finished. Mary Wayne was overcome with astonishment.
"But—but the prize-fight that took place before?" faltered Mary.
"That is another matter," said Aunt Caroline, witha wave of her hand. "A minor matter, I think. Now, are you sure you understand exactly what my nephew William did?"
She was preparing to reenact the scene, when they were interrupted by a ringing of the door-bell and a few seconds later by the arrival of Nell Norcross in the library. Nell viewed the wreckage in one swift glance and ran forward with a cry.
"Mary Wayne, whatever in the world has happened?"
Aunt Caroline glanced quickly from one girl to the other, then smiled.
"You two young people are so excited over this thing that you are getting your names mixed," she said.
Nell clapped a hand to her mouth, consternation in her eyes. Mary sighed, looked at Aunt Caroline and shook her head.
"No; we haven't mixed our names," she said. "You may as well understand all about it now, Miss Marshall. I'm—I'm an awful impostor."
Aunt Caroline showed more evidence of perplexity than alarm.
"This is Nell Norcross," said Mary, in a miserable voice. "I am Mary Wayne."
"Dear me!" said Aunt Caroline. "More things to be explained. Well, come back into the sitting-room, both of you. I suppose somebody has been making a fool of me again. But whoever you are, my dear, don't let me forget to tell your friend about my nephew William."
She led the way to the sitting-room. Mary and Nell exchanged glances as they followed. Aunt Caroline was bewildering.
When they returned to the library half an hour later Bill and Pete Stearns were standing there, the latter rendering a vivid narrative of the great battle between Kid Whaley and the Trenton Bearcat. Aunt Caroline walked directly over to the valet.
"I understand you are a Stearns," she said.
Pete made an acknowledgment.
"A grandson of Eliphalet Stearns?"
"Yes, madam."
"Don't 'madam' me. You have done quite enough of that. A son of Grosvenor Stearns?"
"Yes, Aunt Caroline."
She glowered at him for an instant, then her lips began to twitch. But she rallied herself.
"Your grandfather and your father were enemies of my house," she said. "They were both very bad men. I still think so."
Pete wore a pained look, but made no answer.
"But I believe there is some hope for you. Not, however, in the field of theology. In that connection, I will say that I expect you to make a personal explanation to the bishop. I never can. My nephew's secretary has been telling me something of what happened at Larchmont and also on the way home from Larchmont. For a Stearns, I think you have done fairly well."
"Thank you—Aunt Caroline."
Miss Marshall bit her lip.
"I think you may omit that," she said, but not with the severity that she intended to convey. "As I said, you did fully as well as could be expected of a Stearns. For your deception of me I shall never forgive you. That is understood. But I shall not let that stand in the way of safeguarding the reputation of my nephew'ssecretary. It will be necessary, of course, for you to marry her."
Aunt Caroline was serious again. She meant what she said. She had certain rooted ideas concerning proprieties and they had not been dislodged by the events of a day given over to the shattering of ideals.
Bill Marshall choked. Pete gaped. Nell Norcross went white at the lips and turned away.
"But," began Pete, "it seems to me——"
Aunt Caroline raised her hand.
"It is unfortunate, of course, that she must marry a Stearns. It is not what I would have chosen for the girl. But there shall be no such thing as gossip connected with any person in my household; I will not endure it. You owe her the name of Stearns, poor as it is. I have not discussed the matter with her, but I feel that she will see it as I do."
Bill was watching Mary Wayne with horrified eyes. His knees grew suddenly weak when he saw her nod.
"I have no doubt it is the best thing to do," said Mary.
As she said that she cast a swift glance at Bill Marshall, then bent her head. Nell had crossed the room and was staring out of a window. She was holding a handkerchief to her lips. Pete Stearns was plainly frightened. He looked in the direction of Nell, then at Mary, then at Aunt Caroline, and last of all at Bill.
"There need be no immediate hurry about the wedding," observed Aunt Caroline, "so long as the engagement is announced. I have no doubt the bishop will be glad to perform the ceremony." Turning to Mary: "You can attend to the announcement yourself, my dear."
Mary slowly raised her eyes. Her glance met that ofPete Stearns. It wandered to the figure of Nell, then back to Pete. And then—could he be mistaken?—one of Mary's eyes slowly closed itself and opened again.
"I'll make the announcement whenever you wish, Miss Marshall," said Mary.
"To-morrow," said Aunt Caroline.
Bill Marshall emerged from his coma.
"Not in a million years," he cried.
Aunt Caroline lifted her eyebrows.
"Not while I'm on earth."
Nell Norcross, still standing by the window, half turned and glanced toward the group. She was very pale. Pete Stearns was trying to catch her eye, but she was looking only at Mary.
"Why, William!" said Aunt Caroline. "I do not see how the matter concerns you at all."
"Nor I," said Bill's secretary, throwing him a defiant glance.
"WellIknow how it concerns me," shouted Bill. "Before she marries Pete Stearns there's going to be red, red murder! Understand?"
"But, William, she has already said she is willing," said Aunt Caroline.
"I don't care what she says. She doesn't know what she is talking about. She's crazy. There isn't a chance in the world of her marrying Pete Stearns. I'll not stand for it."
Pete again intercepted Mary's glance.
"If she is willing to marry me," remarked Pete, "I don't see where you have any ground for objection."
Bill swept him aside with an arm-thrust that sent him a dozen feet across the room.
"From now on I'm going to manage my ownaffairs," he announced grimly, "and this is one of them. I'm tired of taking doses that somebody else prescribes for me. I'm through running for society on the opposition ticket. I'm going to do as I please."
"William!"
He glanced at Aunt Caroline, then shook a finger directly under her nose.
"See here, Aunt Caroline—I'm not going to let you marry her off to Pete Stearns, and that settles it. There isn't going to be any argument about it. She's going to marryme!"
"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Caroline. "Why, my dear, is this true?"
She turned to Mary Wayne, who met her with innocent eyes.
"Of course it is not true," answered Mary. "I never thought of such a thing."
"Then you'd better begin thinking of it," warned Bill, "because that's exactly what's going to happen. This is my affair and I'm managing it."
Mary did not deem that it was a politic time to discuss compromises. She had too long a score against Bill Marshall. Inwardly, she was having a glorious time, but it would never do to let Bill know it.
"Do you think that marrying me isentirelyyour affair?" she demanded.
"Absolutely."
"That I have nothing to say about it?"
"Nothing whatever," said Bill sternly. "Not a word."
"Why, you——"
For an instant Mary feared that she was really going to be angry. This was more than she expected, even from Bill Marshall.
"I won't be talked to in that manner!" she exclaimed, stamping a foot "I—I'll marry Mr. Stearns."
Bill sent a dangerous look in the direction of his valet.
"If you want to see him killed, just you try it," he said. "We've had enough nonsense about this thing. There's going to be no more argument."
Even Mary could not but marvel at the change in Bill Marshall. He seemed suddenly to have grown up. He was not talking with the braggadocio of boyhood. Rather, he had become a man who was desperately resolved to have his own way and would not scruple to get it. But her time had not come yet.
"I'll marry Mr. Stearns," she repeated perversely.
"Aunt Caroline," said Bill quietly, "it's all settled. Miss Norcross and I are to be married."
There was an exchange of glances between Pete, Mary, Nell, and Aunt Caroline. The latter smiled at her nephew.
"Of course," she said, "if MissNorcrosswishes to marry you, William, that's different entirely. But this isn't Miss Norcross, you know; this is Miss Wayne."
And she laid a hand on Mary's arm.
Bill devoted seconds to an effort at comprehension, but without avail. He found four persons smiling at him. It was disconcerting.
"Your name is not Norcross?" he demanded.
Mary shook her head.
"It's Wayne?" he faltered.
"Mary Wayne."
"But, how the——"
He paused again to consider the astounding news. Somebody had been playing tricks on him. They werelaughing even now. Suddenly his jaw set again. He transfixed Mary with steady eyes.
"Well, leaving the name part of it aside for a minute, let me ask you this: whose secretary are you?"
"Yours," answered Mary.
"No argument about that, is there?"
"None at all. I always made it perfectly clear that I was your secretary."
"Good," said Bill. "I have a matter of business to be attended to in the office. Come along, Miss Secretary."
He picked her up, tucked her under one arm and walked out of the library. Mary was too amazed even to struggle.
Aunt Caroline stared after them and shook her head.
"Do you know," she said, turning to Pete, "I have a notion that William will have his way about this matter."
"You're damned right he will, Aunt Caroline," said the theological student.
The transaction of Bill Marshall's business required upward of half an hour. When it came to driving a bargain, Mary Wayne admitted that he was ruthless and inexorable. He rode rough-shod over opposition; he crushed it.
"You're worse than a trust," she said, wrinkling her nose at him.
"I'm a monopoly," he admitted. "I've got the whole world."
Mary sighed and began straightening his tie.
"But you treated me so badly," she complained.
"Because I loved you," he said, kissing her some more. "Do I have to explain that all over again?"
"Oh, well, Bill Marshall; if you object to explaining——"
"Confound it! Did I say I objected? Idon'tobject."
"Then let me see if you can explain it twice in the same way."
So Bill explained all over again. The explanation may not have been in identical words, but it amounted to the same thing. It rumpled Mary's hair all over again and left her freckles swimming in a sea of pink.
"Oh, Bill!" she whispered, hiding her face.
When they came down from the skies and recognizedthe familiar details of the office, Mary asked a question.
"Bill, do you think Peter is really serious about Nell?"
"Why?"
"Because she is—terribly."
"Well, then, if he isn't I'll break his neck."
"That's dear of you, Bill; I want her to be happy."
A moment afterward:
"Bill?"
"Yes?"
"What do you think your aunt will say about—us?"
"Let's find out."
They discovered Aunt Caroline in her sitting-room. She glanced over the top of her gold rims and marked her book with her finger.
"Well, what now?" she demanded, but her tone was patient. "Have you attended to your business affairs?"
"Yes, Aunt Caroline," assented Bill. "I've decided to give up society."
"William, I think possibly society has given up you. But I have no complaint to make. I have been thinking it over, and it seems to me that if you care to go into business——"
Bill interrupted her.
"Aunt Caroline, you're stealing our stuff. We've already decided that. I am going into business. I don't know just what—but I'm going."
"That can be decided later," said his aunt. "I'm very glad, William. I think perhaps I made a mistake in attempting—— But we won't discuss that any more."
Mary Wayne was fidgeting.
"I have also decided to abandon my interest in art," observed Bill.
Aunt Caroline regarded him suspiciously.
"William, be careful. Are you sure you are quite well?"
Bill laughed.
"Never better. Now, as to Pete Stearns——"
Mary, who had been growing more and more restless, placed a hand over his lips. Then she ran forward, dropped to her knees and buried her head in Aunt Caroline's lap.
"He's teasing us—both of us," she said in a muffled voice. "That isn't what we came to say at all."
Aunt Caroline stroked the small head.
"And what is it you want to say?" she inquired.
Mary looked up suddenly.
"Will—will you let me marry Bill Marshall—Aunt Caroline?"
The eyes behind the spectacles were smiling.
"Just for calling me 'Aunt Caroline,'" she said, "I believe I will, my dear."
Mary hugged her.
Presently she and Bill went to hunt for Pete Stearns and Nell, who were reported to be in the conservatory. As they departed, Aunt Caroline called:
"If William requires you to give references, my dear, just come to me."
Mary uttered a small shriek.
"References! Oh, please! If anybody ever says 'references' to me again I'll just die. Bill, you'll have to take me without any at all."
Bill took her.
Aunt Caroline readjusted her spectacles and opened her book.
"There is only one thing that really upsets me," she said, half aloud. "I shall never find out what they say about Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's elder daughter."