"Ban; there's something I've been waiting to
tell you. Tertius Marrineal wants to marry me."
"I've suspected as much. That would settle the obnoxious critic,
wouldn't it! Though it's rather a roundabout way."
"Ban! You're beastly."
"Yes; I apologize," he replied quickly. "But--have I got to revise my
estimate of you, Betty? I should hate to."
"Your estimate? Oh, as to purchasability. That's worse than what you've
just said. Yet, somehow, I don't resent it. Because it's honest, I
suppose," she said pensively. "No: it wouldn't be a--a market deal. I
like Tertius. I like him a lot. I won't pretend that I'm madly in love
with him. But--"
"Yes; I know," he said gently, as she paused, looking at him steadily,
but with clouded eyes. He read into that "but" a world of opportunities;
a theater of her own--the backing of a powerful newspaper--wealth--and
all, if she so willed it, without interruption to her professional
career.
"Would you think any the less of me?" she asked wistfully.
"Would you think any the less of yourself?" he countered.
The blossoming spray broke under her hand. "Ah, yes; that's the question
after all, isn't it?" she murmured.
Meantime, Gardner, the eternal journalist, fostering a plan of his own,
was gathering material from Guy Mallory who had come in late.
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