A week passed on the wings of magic.

Every day at four o\'clock the car was waiting at her door. The drab interior of the school-room had lost its terror. No annoyance could break the spell that reigned within. Her patience was inexhaustible, her temper serene.

Walking with swift step down the Avenue to her home she wondered vaguely how she could have been lonely in all the music and the wonder of New York\'s marvelous life. The windows of the stores were already crowded with Christmas cheer, and busy thousands passed through their doors. Each man or woman was a swift messenger of love. Somewhere in the shadows of the city\'s labyrinth a human heart would beat with quickened joy for every step that pressed about these crowded counters. Love had given new eyes to see, new ears to hear and a new heart to feel the joys and sorrows of life.

She hadn\'t given her consent yet. She was still asking her silly heart to be sure of herself. Of her lover, the depth and tenderness, the strength and madness of his love, there could be no doubt. Each day he had given new tokens.

For Saturday afternoon she had told him not to bring the car.

When they reached Fifth Avenue, across the Square, he stopped abruptly and faced her with a curious, uneasy look:

“Say, tell me why you wanted to walk?”

“I had a good reason,” she said evasively.

“Yes, but why? It\'s a sin to lay that car up a day like this. Look here——”

He stopped and tried to gulp down his fears.

“Look here—you\'re not going to throw me down after leading me to the very top of the roof, are you?”

She looked up with tender assurance.

“Not today——”

“Then why hoof it? Let me run round to the garage and shoot her out. You can wait for me at the Waldorf. I\'ve always wanted to push my buzz-wagon up to that big joint and wait for my girl to trip down the steps.”

“No. I\'ve a plan of my own today. Let me have my way.”

“All righto—just so you\'re happy.”

“I am happy,” she answered soberly.

At the foot of the broad stairs of the Library she paused and looked up smilingly at its majestic front.

“Come in a moment,” she said softly.

He followed her wonderingly into the vaulted hall and climbed the grand staircase to the reading-room. She walked slowly to the shelf on which the Century Dictionary rested and looked laughingly at the seat in which she sat Saturday afternoon a week ago at exactly this hour.

Jim smiled, leaned close and whispered:

“I got you, Kiddo—I got you! Get out of here quick or I\'ll grab you and kiss you!”

She started and blushed.

“Don\'t you dare!”

“Beat it then—beat it—or I can\'t help it!”

She turned quickly and they passed through the catalogue room and lightly down the stairs.

He held her soft, round arm with a grip that sent the blood tingling to the roots of her brown hair.

“You understand now?” she whispered.

“You bet! We walk the same way up the Avenue, through the Park to the little house on the laurel hill. And you\'re goin\' to be sweet to me today, my Kiddo—I just feel it. I——”

“Don\'t be too sure, sir!” she interrupted, solemnly.

He laughed aloud.

“You can\'t fool me now—and I\'m crazy as a June bug! You know I like to walk—if I can be with you!”

At the Park entrance she stopped again and smiled roguishly.

“We\'ll find a seat in one of the summer houses along the Fifty-ninth Street side.”

“All right,” he responded.

“No—we\'ll go on where we started!”

With a laugh, she slipped her hand through his arm.

“You were a little scared of me last Saturday about this time, weren\'t you?”

“Just a little——”

“It hurt me, too, but I didn\'t let you know.”

“I\'m sorry.”

“It\'s all right now—it\'s all right. Gee I but we\'ve traveled some in a week, haven\'t we?”

“I\'ve known you more than a week,” she protested gayly.

“Sure—I\'ve known you since I was born.”

They walked through the stately rows of elms on the Mall in joyous silence. Crowds of children and nurses, lovers and loungers, filled the seats and thronged the broad promenade.

Scarcely a word was spoken until they reached the rustic house nestling among the trees on the hill.

“Just a week by the calendar,” she murmured. “And I\'ve lived a lifetime.”

“It\'s all right then—little girl? You\'ll marry me right away? When—tonight?”

“Hardly!”

“Tomorrow, then?”

She drew the glove from her hand and held the slender fingers up before him.

“You can get the ring——”

“Gee! I do have to get a ring, don\'t I?”

“Yes——”

“Why didn\'t you tell me? You know I never got married before.”

“I should hope not!”

He seized her hand and kissed it, drew her into his arms, held her crushed and breathless and released her with a quick, impulsive movement.

“You\'ll help me get it?” he asked eagerly.

“If you like.”

“A big white sparkler?”

“No—no——”

“No?”

“A plain little gold band.”

“Let me get you a big diamond!”

“No—a plain gold band.”

“It\'s all settled then?”

“We\'re engaged. You\'re my fiance.”

“But for God\'s sake, Kiddo—how long do I have to be a fiance?”

A ripple of laughter rang through the trees.

“Don\'t you think we\'ve done pretty well for seven days?”

“I could have settled it in seven minutes after we met,” he answered complainingly. “You won\'t tell me the day yet?”

“Not yet——”

“All right, we\'ll just have to take blessings as they come, then.”

Through the beautiful afternoon they sat side by side with close-pressed hands and planned the future which love had given. A modest flat far up among the trees on the cliffs overlooking the Hudson, they decided on.

“We\'ll begin with that,” he cried enthusiastically, “but we won\'t stay there long. I\'ve got big plans. I\'m going to make a million. The white house down by the sea for me, a yacht out in the front yard and a half-dozen thundering autos in the garage. If this deal I\'m on now goes through, I\'ll make my pile in a year——”

They rose as the shadows lengthened.

“I must go home and feed my pets,” she sighed.

“All right,” he responded heartily. “I\'ll get the car and be there in a jiffy. We\'ll take a spin out to a road-house for dinner.”

She lifted her eyes tenderly.

“You can come right up to my room—now that we\'re engaged.”

He swept her into his arms again, and held her in unresisting happiness.

It was dark when he swung the gray car against the curb and sprang out. He didn\'t blow his horn for her to come down. The privilege she had granted was too sweet and wonderful. He wouldn\'t miss it for the world.

The stairs were dark. Ella was late this afternoon getting back to her work. His light footstep scarcely made a sound. He found each step with quick, instinctive touch. The building seemed deserted. The tenants were all on trips to the country and the seashore. The day was one of rare beauty and warmth. Someone was fumbling in the dark on the third floor back.

He made his way quickly to her room, and softly knocked, waited a moment and knocked again. There was no response. He couldn\'t be mistaken. He had seen her lean out of that window every day the past week.

Perhaps she was busy in the kitchenette and the noise from the street made it impossible to hear.

He placed his hand on the doorknob.

From the darkness of the hall, in a quick, tiger leap, Ella threw herself on him and grappled for his throat.

“What are you doing at that door, you dirty thief?” she growled.

“Here! Here! What\'ell—what\'s the matter with you?” he gasped, gripping her hands and tearing them from his neck. “I\'m no thief!”

“You are! You are, too!” she shrieked. “I heard you sneak in the door downstairs—heard you slippin\' like a cat upstairs! Get out of here before I call a cop!”

She was savagely pushing him back to the landing of the stairs. With a sudden lurch, Jim freed himself and gripped her hands.

“Cut it! Cut it! Or I\'ll knock your block off! I\'ve come to take my girl to ride——”

He drew a match and quickly lighted the gas as Mary\'s footstep echoed on the stairs below.

“Well, she\'s coming now—we\'ll see,” was the sullen answer.

Ella surveyed him from head to foot, her one eye gleaming in angry suspicion.

Mary sprang up the last step and saw the two confronting each other. She had heard the angry voices from below.

“Why, Ella, what\'s the matter?” she gasped.

“He was trying to break into your room——”

Jim threw up his hands in a gesture of rage, and Mary broke into a laugh.

“Why, nonsense, Ella, I asked him to come! This is Mr. Anthony,”—her voice dropped,—“my fiance.”

Ella\'s figure relaxed with a look of surprise.

“Oh, ja?” she murmured, as if dazed.

“Yes—come in,” she said to Jim. “Sorry I was out. I had to run to the grocer\'s for the Kitty.”

Ella glared at Jim, turned and began to light the other hall lamps without any attempt at apology.

Jim entered the room with a look of awe, took in its impression of sweet, homelike order and recovered quickly his composure.

“Gee, you\'re the dandy little housekeeper! I could stay here forever.”

“You like it?”

“It\'s a bird\'s nest.” He glanced in the mirror and saw the print of Ella\'s fingers on his collar. “Will you look at that?” he growled.

“It\'s too bad,” she said, sympathetically.

“You know I thought a she-tiger had got loose from the Bronx and jumped on me.”

“I\'m awfully sorry,” she apologized. “Ella\'s very fond of me. She was trying to protect me. She couldn\'t see who it was in the dark.”

“No; I reckon not,” Jim laughed.

“I\'ve changed our plans for the evening,” she announced. “We won\'t go to ride tonight. I want you to bring my best friend to dinner with us at Mouquin\'s. Go after her in the car. I want to impress her——”

“I got you, Kiddo! She\'s goin\' to look me over—eh? All right, I\'ll stop at the store and get a clean collar. I wouldn\'t like her to see the print of that tiger\'s claw on my neck.”

“There\'s her address the Gainsborough Studios. drop me at Mouquin\'s and I\'ll have the table set in one of the small rooms upstairs. I\'ll meet you at the door.”

Jim glanced at the address, put it in his pocket and helped her draw on her heavy coat.

“You\'ll be nice to Jane? I want her to like you. She\'s the only real friend I\'ve ever had in New York.”

“I\'ll do my best for you, little girl,” he promised.

He dropped her at the wooden cottage-front on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-eighth Street, and returned in twenty minutes with Jane.

As the tall artist led the way upstairs, Jim whispered:

“Say, for God\'s sake, let me out of this!”

“Why?”

“She\'s a frost. If I have to sit beside her an hour I\'ll catch cold and die. I swear it; save me! Save my life!”

“Sh! It\'s all right. She\'s fine and generous when you know her.”

They had reached the door and Mary pushed him in. There was no help for it. He\'d have to make the most of it.

The dinner was a dismal failure.

Jane Anderson was polite and genial, but there was a straight look of wonder in her clear gray eyes that froze the blood in Jim\'s veins.

Mary tried desperately for the first half-hour to put him at his ease. It was useless. The attack of Ella had upset his nerves, and the unexpressed hostility of Jane had completely crushed his spirits. He tried to talk once, stammered and lapsed into a sullen silence from which nothing could stir him.

The two girls at last began to discuss their own affairs and the dinner ended in a sickening failure that depressed and angered Mary.

The agony over at last, she rose and turned to Jim:

“You can go now, sir—I\'ll take Jane home with me for a friendly chat.”

“Thank God!” he whispered, grinning in spite of his effort to keep a straight face.

“Tomorrow?” he asked in low tones.

“At eight o\'clock.”

Jim bowed awkwardly to Jane, muttered something inarticulate and rushed to his car.

The two girls walked in silence through Twenty-eighth Street to Broadway and thence across the Square.

Seated in her room, Mary could contain her pent-up rage no longer.

“Jane Anderson, I\'m furious with you! How could you be so rude—so positively insulting!”

“Insulting?”

“Yes. You stared at him in cold disdain as if he were a toad under your feet!”

“I assure you, dear——”

“Why did you do it?”

The artist rose, walked to the window, looked out on the Square for a moment, extended her hand and laid it gently on Mary\'s shoulder.

“You\'ve made up your mind to marry this man, honey?”

“I certainly have,” was the emphatic answer.

Jane paused.

“And all in seven days?”

“Seven days or seven years—what does it matter? He\'s my mate—we love—it\'s Fate.”

“It\'s incredible!”

“What\'s incredible?”

“Such madness.”

“Perhaps love is madness—the madness that makes life worth the candle. I\'ve never lived before the past week.”

“And you, the dainty, cultured, pious little saint, will marry this—this——”

“Say it! I want you to be frank——”

“Perfectly frank?”

“Absolutely.”

“This coarse, ugly, illiterate brute——”

“Jane Anderson, how dare you!” Mary sprang to her feet, livid with rage.

“I asked if I might be frank. Shall I lie to you? Or shall I tell you what I think?”

“Say what you please; it doesn\'t matter,” Mary interrupted angrily.

“I only speak at all because I love you. Your common-sense should tell you that I speak with reluctance. But now that I have spoken, let me beg of you for your father\'s sake, for your dead mother\'s sake, for my sake—I\'m your one disinterested friend and you know that my love is real—for the sake of your own soul\'s salvation in this world and the next—don\'t marry that brute! Commit suicide if you will—jump off the bridge—take poison, cut your throat, blow your brains out—but, oh dear God, not this!”

“And why, may I ask?” was the cold question.

“He\'s in no way your equal in culture, in character, in any of the essentials on which the companionship of marriage must be based——”

“He\'s a diamond in the rough,” Mary staunchly asserted.

“He\'s in the rough, all right! The only diamond about him is the one in his red scarf—`Take it from me, Kiddo! Take it from me!\'”

Her last sentence was a quotation from Jim, her imitation of his slang so perfect Mary\'s cheeks flamed anew with anger.

“I\'ll teach him to use good English—never fear. In a month he\'ll forget his slang and his red scarf.”

“You mean that in a month you\'ll forget to use good English and his style of dress will be yours. Oh, honey, can\'t you see that such a man will only drag you down, down to his level? Can it be possible that you—that you really love him?”

“I adore him and I\'m proud of his love!”

“Now listen! You believe in an indissoluble marriage, don\'t you?”

“Yes——”

“It\'s the first article of your creed—that marriage is a holy sacrament, that no power on earth or in hell can ever dissolve its bonds? Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, my dear! They always have—they always will, I suppose. This is peculiarly true of your type of woman—the dainty, clinging girl of religious enthusiasm. You\'re peculiarly susceptible to the physical power of a brutal lover. Your soul glories in submission to this force. The more coarse and brutal its attraction the more abject and joyful the surrender. Your religion can\'t save you because your religion is purely emotional—it is only another manifestation of your sex emotions.”

“How can you be so sacrilegious!” the girl interrupted with a look of horror.

“It may shock you, dear, but I\'m telling you one of the simplest truths of Nature. You\'d as well know it now as later. The moment you wake to realize that your emotions have been deceived and bankrupted, your faith will collapse. At least keep, your grip on common-sense. Down in the cowardly soul of every weak woman—perhaps of every woman—is the insane desire to be dominated by a superior brute force. The woman of the lower classes—the peasant of Russia, for example, whose sex impulses are of all races the most violent—refuses with scorn the advances of the man who will not strike her. The man who can\'t beat his wife is beneath contempt—he is no man at all——”

Mary broke into a laugh.

“Really, Jane, you cease to be serious you\'re a joke. For Heaven\'s sake use a little common-sense yourself. You can\'t be warning me that my lover is marrying me in order to use his fists on me?”

“Perhaps not, dear,”—the artist smiled; “there might be greater depths for one of your training and character. I\'m just telling you the plain truth about the haste with which you\'re rushing into this marriage. There\'s nothing divine in it. There\'s no true romance of lofty sentiment. It\'s the simplest and most elemental of all the brutal facts of animal life. That it is resistless in a woman of your culture and refinement makes it all the more pathetic——”

The girl rose with a gesture of impatience.

“It\'s no use, Jane dear; we speak a different language. I don\'t in the least know what you\'re talking about, and what\'s more, I\'m glad I don\'t. I\'ve a vague idea that your drift is indecent. But we\'re different. I realize that. I don\'t sit in judgment on you. You\'re wasting your breath on me. I\'m going into this marriage with my eyes wide open. It\'s the fulfillment of my brightest hopes and aspirations. That I shall be happy with this man and make him supremely happy I know by an intuition deeper and truer than reason. I\'m going to trust that intuition without reservation.”

“All right, honey,” the artist agreed with a smile. “I won\'t say anything more, except that you\'re fooling yourself about the depth of this intuitive knowledge. Your infatuation is not based on the verdict of your deepest and truest instincts.”

“On what, then?”

“The crazy ideals of the novels you\'ve been reading—that\'s all.”

“Ridiculous!”

“You\'re absolutely sure, for instance, that God made just one man the mate of one woman, aren\'t you?”

“As sure as that I live.”

“Where did you learn it?”

“So long ago I can\'t remember.”

“Not in your Bible?”

“No.”

“The Sunday school?”

“No.”

“Craddock didn\'t tell you that, did he?”

“Hardly——”

“I thought not. He has too much horse-sense in spite of his emotional gymnastics. You learned it in the first dime-novel you read.”

“I never read a dime-novel in my life,” she interrupted, indignantly.

“I know—you paid a dollar and a quarter for it—but it was a dime-novel. The philosophy of this school of trash you have built into a creed of life. How can you be so blind? How can you make so tragic a blunder?”

“That\'s just it, Jane: I couldn\'t if your impressions of his character were true. I couldn\'t make a mistake about so vital a question. I couldn\'t love him if he really were a coarse, illiterate brute. What you see is only on the surface. He hasn\'t had his chance yet——”

“Who is he? What does he do? Who are his people?”

“He has no people——”

“I thought not.”

“I love him all the more deeply,” she went on firmly, “because of his miserable childhood. I\'ll do my best to make up for the years of cruelty and hunger and suffering through which he passed. What right have you to sit in judgment on him without a hearing? You\'ve known him two hours——”

Jane shrugged her shoulders.

“Two minutes was quite enough.”

“And you judge by what standard?”

“My five senses, and my sixth sense above all. One look at his square bulldog jaw, his massive neck and the deformity of his delicate hands and feet! I hear the ignorant patois of the East Side underworld. I smell the brimstone in his suppressed rage at my dislike. There\'s something uncanny in the sensuous droop of his heavy eyelids and the glitter of his steel-blue eyes. There\'s something incongruous in his whole personality. I was afraid of him the moment I saw him.”

Mary broke into hysterical laughter.

“And if my five senses and my intuitions contradict yours? Who is to decide? If I loved him on sight——If I looked into his eyes and saw the soul of my mate? If their cold fires thrill me with inexpressible passion? If I see in his massive neck and jaw the strength of an irresistible manhood, the power to win success and to command the world? If I see in his slender hands and small feet lines of exquisite beauty—am I to crush my senses and strangle my love to please your idiotic prejudice?”

Jane threw up her hands in despair.

“Certainly not! If you\'re blind and deaf I can\'t keep you from committing suicide. I\'d lock you up in an asylum for the insane if I had the power to save you from the clutches of the brute.”

Mary drew herself erect and faced her friend.

“Please don\'t repeat that word in my hearing—there\'s a limit to friendship. I think you\'d better go——”

Jane rose and walked quickly to the door, her lips pressed firmly.

“As you like—our lives will be far apart from tonight. It\'s just as well.”

She closed the door with a bang and reached the head of the stairs before Mary threw her arms around her neck.

“Please, dear, forgive me—don\'t go in anger.”

The older woman kissed her tenderly, glad of the dim light to hide her own tears.

“There, it\'s all right, honey—I won\'t remember it. Forgive me for my ugly words.”

“I love him, Jane—I love him! It\'s Fate. Can\'t you understand?”

“Yes, dear, I understand, and I\'ll love you always—good-by.”

“You\'ll come to my wedding?”

“Perhaps——”

“I\'ll let you know——”

Another kiss, and Jane Anderson strode down the stairs and out into the night with a sickening, helpless fear in her heart.