of the falseness of his position, squirming under her caresses, and
cursing himself heartily for yielding to the absurd impulse that had
placed him in so ridiculous a predicament, Sanderson opened his month a
dozen times to make his confession, but each time closed it again,
unsuccessful.

At last, nerved to the ordeal by the knowledge that each succeeding
moment was making his position more difficult, and his ultimate pardon
less certain, he wrenched himself free and stood up, his face crimson.

"Look here, ma'am----"

"Mary!" she corrected, shaking a finger at him.

"Mary," he repeated tonelessly, "now look here," he went on hoarsely.
"I want to tell you that I ain't the man you take me to be. I'm----"

"Yes, you are," she insisted, smiling and placing her hands on his
shoulders. "You are a real man. I'll wager Dale thinks so; and Peggy
Nyland, and Ben. Now, wait!" she added as he tried to speak. "I want
to tell you something. Do you know what would have happened if you had
not got here today?

"I'll tell you," she went on again, giving him no opportunity to inject
a word. "Dale would have taken the Double A away from me! He told me
so! He was over here yesterday, gloating over me. Do you know what he
claims? That I am not a Bransford; that I am merely an adopted
daughter--not even a legally adopted one; that father just took me,
when I was a year old, without going through any legal formalities.