call it dislike--hate--loathing--according to the size of the
slop. Now, I'm not here to deal with vanity, but with good sense.
Has it occurred to you in the last few days that you and I have
got to get married, whether we will or no?"

"It has not," she cried with frantic fury of human being cornered
by an ugly truth.

"Oh, yes, it has. For you are a sensible woman--entirely too
sensible for a woman, unless she marries an unusual man like me."

"Is that a jest?" she inquired in feeble attempt at sarcasm.

"Don't you know I have no sense of humor? Would I do the things I
do and carry them through if I had?"

In spite of herself she admired this penetration of self-analysis.
In spite of herself the personality beneath his surface, the
personality that had a certain uncanny charm for her, was subtly
reasserting its inexplicable fascination.

"Yes, we've got to marry," proceeded he. "I have to marry you
because I can't afford to let you say you jilted me. That would
make me the laughing-stock of my State; and I can't afford to tell
the truth that I jilted you because the people would despise me as
no gentleman. And, while I don't in the least mind being despised
as no gentleman by fashionable noddle-heads or by those I trample
on to rise, I do mind it when it would ruin me with the people."

Her eyes gleamed. So! She had him at her mercy!