however, to raise the question of my likes or dislikes."

"I must differ with you, Mara," he replied gravely.

"I agree with you now, fully, Mr. Clancy. We differ. Had we not better
change the subject?"

"No, not unless you would be unfair. I am at a disadvantage. I am in your
home. You are a lady, and therefore can compel me to leave unsaid what I
am bent on saying. We have been friends, have we not?"

She bowed her acquiescence.

"Well," he continued a little bitterly, "I have one Southern trait
left--frankness. You know I would speak in a different character if
permitted, if I received one particle of encouragement." Then, with a
sudden flush, he said firmly, "I will speak as I feel. I only pay homage
in telling you what you must already know. I love you, and would make you
my wife."

Her face became very pale as she averted it, and replied briefly, "You are
mistaken, Mr. Clancy."

"Mara, I am not mistaken. Will you be fair enough to listen to me? We
agree that we differ. Can we not also agree that we differ
conscientiously? You cannot think me false, even though you say I am
mistaken. Hitherto you have opposed to me a dead wall of silence. Though
you will not listen to me as a lover, you might both listen and speak to
me as a friend. That word would be hollow indeed if estrangment could
result from honest differences of opinion."