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 feelings he had packed in him! And she did not guess how much until he drew her into the seclusion of the little den beyond the drawing-room where he shut the door tight and then put his big, strong, blundering arms around her again.

"Dear Marjorie, will you marry me to-morrow?"

It was so far from any feeling she could imagine sharing that night that she cried out, "What?"

He repeated it, pressing her to him and explaining, "I won't expect you to begin being my wife to-morrow, Marjorie. But I want to feel you're mine, whatever happens."

That frightened her more. "Why? Is father worse?"

Instantly he tried to reassure her. "Oh, no, dear. It's only the danger of scandal; if it comes, I want you to have my name."

She did not relax at that, as he seemed to expect; it made her tenser stronger, and she worked with her fingers to loosen his hold upon her. "Thank you, Billy, but a name wouldn't change—disgrace." The idea of another name shielding her seemed so trivial that she could not think about it, but she realized that his offer meant much to him; and now he elaborated it.

"If you come to feel need of my name or if I've anything else in the world that can help you, Marjorie, it's yours. Do you know, dear, how you're fixed for—money?"

"No; I haven't thought of it."

"If your father's sick a long time, or if, for any reason, he doesn't return to his office, you must know that all I have is yours. I've fifty thousand dollars of stock in father's bank in my own name, which I can get