"Please!" she said; and he saw that the blue eyes were growing wistful again.
"I'm done," he said quickly. "I shan't put it up to you any more. I'll do what I think I ought to do, on my own responsibility."
But now, woman-like, she crossed quickly to the other side.
"No; you mustn't deprive me of my chance," she protested soberly. "After a little while I shall tell you what I think—what I think you ought to do. Only you must give me time."
His smile came from the depths of a lover's heart.
"You shall have all the time there is—and then some, if I can compass it. Now let's talk about something else. I've been boring you with this despicable business affair ever since you gave me leave on that foot-race down Plug Mountain Tuesday afternoon."
"What shall it be?" she inquired gaily. And then: "Oh, I know. One day last summer—just as we were leaving Chicago in the Nadia—you had begun to tell me about a certain young woman who had money, and who was—who was—"
"—who was without her peer in all this world," he finished for her. "Yes; I remember."
"Do you still remember her, as you do the conversation?" she went on teasingly.
"I have never lost a day since I first met her."