“Why—um—because, dear one, I saw a little girl that night who was longing so for love that she was accepting a cheap and flashy counterfeit in its stead. I didn’t want her to waste a real heart on such an apology for a man, and so I interfered.”
“But how did you know?” cried Frances, looking bewildered. “We had only just—you couldn’t have known it then?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Champney laughed as he replied: “That’s telling.”
⁂
And now, another leap, please, back to that fireplace, and sofa, again occupied by two—but not the same two—or, at least, only half the same.
“Well,” groaned Champney, “I suppose I ought to be going, for you must look your prettiest to-morrow, otherwise malicious people will say it’s a match arranged for the business.”
“Let them,” laughed Frances. “By the way, how have you arranged about that? You are such a good business man, and papa and mama are so delighted, that I know you have the best of it.”
“Of course I have. And she’s sitting beside me now. But nothing mercenary to-night, Madam,” ordered Champney. “Cupid, not cupidity.”