conscious of the fact, though Mrs. Willard's sympathy with Marguerite
led her to suspect that such was the case; for that such was the case
was what Marguerite feared.

"We are being forced, Dorothy," she said, as she stepped on the yacht
two days later.

"Well, what if we are? It's pleasanter going this way than by rail,
isn't it?" Mrs. Willard replied, with some impatience. "If we owe
all this to Stuart Harley, we ought to thank him for his kindness.
According to your theory he could have sent us up on a hot, dusty
train, and had a collision ready for us at New London, in order to
kill off a few undesirable characters and give his hero a chance to
distinguish himself. I think that even from your own point of view
Mr. Harley is behaving in a very considerate fashion."

"No doubt you think so," returned Marguerite, spiritedly. "But it's
different with you. You are settled in life. Your husband is the
man of your choice; you are happy, with everything you want. You
will do nothing extraordinary in the book. If you did do something
extraordinary you would cease to be a good chaperon, and from that
moment would be cast aside; but I--I am in a different position
altogether. I am a single woman, unsettled as yet, for whom this
author in his infinite wisdom deems it necessary to provide a lover
and husband; and in order that his narrative of how I get this person
he has selected--without consulting my tastes--may interest a lot of
other girls, who are expected to buy and read his book, he makes me
the object of an intriguing fortune-hunter from Italy. I am to
believe he is a real nobleman, and all that; and a stupid wiseacre
from the York University, who can't dance, and who thinks of nothing