engaged. She started three times to make a reply, but halted each
answer for a better.

"You don't like Mr. Bostwick," she finally observed.

Van told her gravely: "I like him like the old woman kept tavern."

She could not entirely repress a smile.

"And how did she keep it--the tavern?"

"Like hell," said Van. He rose to go, adding; "You like him about that
way yourself--since yesterday."

Her eyes had been sparkling, but now they snapped.

"Why--how can you speak so rudely? You know that isn't true! You know
I like--admire Mr. Bost---- You haven't any right to say a thing like
that--no matter what you may have done for me!"

She too had risen. She faced him glowingly.

He suddenly took both her hands and held them in a firm, warm clasp
from which there could be no escape.

"Beth," he said audaciously, "you are never going to marry that man."

She was struggling vainly to be free. Her face was crimson.

"Let me go!" she demanded. "Mr. Van--you let me go! I don't see how