"Please!" said Mary. Her eyes were full of tears. That was rare for her,
and Wilmer saw it meant a shaken poise. She was less certain to-day of
her own fate. It made her more responsively tender toward his. He sat up
and looked at her.

"No," he said. "No. I won't ask you again. I never meant to. Only I have
to speak of it once in a while. We should have such a tremendously good
time together."

"We have a tremendously good time now," said Mary, the smile coming
while she again put up the back of her hand and brushed her eyes. "When
you're good."

"When I help all the other little boys at the table, and don't look at
the nice heart-shaped cake I want myself? It's frosted, and got little
pink things all over the top. There! don't drop the corners of your
mouth. If I were asked what kind of a world I'd like to live in, I'd say
one where the corners of Mary's mouth keep quirked up all the time.
Let's talk about Marshby's picture. It's going to be your Marshby."

"What do you mean?"

"Not Marshby's Marshby--yours."

"You're not going to play some dreadful joke on him?" Her eyes were
blazing under knotted brows.

"Mary!" Wilmer spoke gently, and though the tone recalled her, she could
not forbear at once, in her hurt pride and loyalty.