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 the floor. "We cannot, Monty, dear,—you must never speak of it again. Mamma and I had a feeling that you would do it. But don't you see,—even from you it is an offer of help, and it hurts."

"Don't talk like that, Peggy," he implored.

"It would break her heart if you offered to give her money in that way. She'd hate it, Monty. It is foolish, perhaps, but you know we can't take your money."

"I thought you—that you—oh, this knocks all the joy out of it," he burst out desperately.

"Dear Monty!"

"Let's talk it over, Peggy; you don't understand—" he began, dashing at what he thought would be a break in her resolve.

"Don't!" she commanded, and in her blue eyes was the hot flash he had felt once or twice before.

He rose and walked across the floor, back and forth again, and then stood before her, a smile on his lips—a rather pitiful smile, but still a smile. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

"It's a confounded puritanical prejudice, Peggy," he said in futile protest, "and you know it."

"You have not seen the letters that came