"I do not," answered Burgess, "she must decide that for herself. I'll
ask her and let you know."

To this end he sought Miss Masters. "I want you," said he, "to ask Mary
Conners to tea with you to-morrow afternoon. It will be Sunday so she
can manage. And then I want you to leave us alone. I have something very
serious to say to her."

Margaret looked at him and laughed. "Then you were right," said she,
"and I was wrong; I had found a wife for you."

"For absolute inane, insensate romanticism," said he, "I recommend you
to the recently engaged. You used to have some sense. You were clever
enough to refuse me and now you go and forever ruin my opinion of you by
making a remark like that."

"It is not romanticism at all," she maintained. "It is the best of
common sense. You will never be satisfied with anyone you haven't
trained and formed to suit your own ideals. And you will never find such
a 'quick study' as Mary."

It was the earliest peep of spring and Burgess stopped on his way to
Miss Masters' house and bought a sheaf of white hyacinths and pale
maiden hair for the little Lady Hyacinth who was waiting for him.

As soon as he was alone with her he managed to distract her attention
from her flowers and to make her listen to Marsden's message. He set the
case before her plainly. Without exaggeration and without extenuation.