"I want to marry you—just you," he pleaded. "The engagement stands."
"You're terribly polite, but I can't—not for charity."
"Charity—bosh!" he stormed. "I can't get along without you. You couldn't get along without a lot of money, Persis. If—if you'll let the engagement stand I'll put your father on his feet again. I'll—I'll do anything."
"How put him on his feet? I thought he was smashed?"
"He went to Chicago to raise a lot of money. He couldn't. He's coming back to face the music. It's a funeral march unless—unless—well, I could take up his obligations. I don't understand it very well myself, to say nothing of explaining it to you. But I've got a lot of money, and money is what your father's enemies want. He'll be all right if he's tided over the shallow places. So for my sake and your governor's, let me announce the engagement."
"Think what people would say. It looks so hideously mercenary on my part."
"We can prove that we were engaged before this thing threatened. Everybody will have to confess it's a true love match on both sides. Please, please, Persis! pretty please!"
She resigned herself to all the shames she foresaw, and sighed:
"All right, Willie, it will brace Dad up a bit."
"Is he the only one you think of?" Willie pouted. "Haven't you a word of—of love for me?" He wrung her hands in his little claws again, and they set her nerves on edge. She wanted to shriek her detestation of her plight; but she controlled herself enough to keep down her feelings. She could not, however, mimic love where she felt loathing—the best she could do was to mumble: