"However that may be, I know you'll not refuse to listen to my appeal. I
love her, Norman. I'm going to make her my wife if I can. And I ask
you--for the sake of our old friendship--to let her alone. I've no
doubt you could dazzle her. You couldn't make a bad woman of her. But
you could make her very miserable."

Norman pushed about the papers before him. His face wore a cynical
smile; but Tetlow, who knew him in all his moods, saw that he was deeply
agitated.

"I don't know that I can win her, Fred," he pleaded. "But I feel that I
might if I had a fair chance."

"You think she'd refuse _you_?" said Norman.

"Like a flash, unless I'd made her care for me. That's the kind she is."

"That sounds absurd. Why, there isn't a woman in New York who would
refuse a chance to take a high jump up."

"I'd have said so, too. But since I've gotten acquainted with her I've
learned better. She may be spoiled some day, but she hasn't been yet.
God knows, I wish I could tempt her. But I can't."

"You're entirely too credulous, old man. She'll make a fool of you."

"I know better," Tetlow stubbornly maintained. "Anyhow, I don't care. I
love her, and I'd marry her, no matter what her reason for marrying me
was."