her about in his smart little roadster and one night he
established himself in her memory forever as the first man
who had ever asked her to marry him. He did it haltingly,
painfully, almost grudgingly. Fanny was frankly amazed.
She had enjoyed going about with him. He rested and soothed
her. He, in turn, had been stimulated by her energy, her
humor, her electric force. Nothing was said for a minute
after his awkward declaration.

"But," he persisted, "you like me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Immensely."

"Then why?"

"When a woman of my sort marries it's a miracle. I'm
twenty-six, and intelligent and very successful. A
frightful combination. Unmarried women of my type
aren't content just to feel. They must analyze their
feelings. And analysis is death to romance."

"Great Scott! You expect to marry somebody sometime, don't
you, Fanny?"

"No one I know now. When I do marry, if I do, it will be
with the idea of making a definite gain. I don't mean
necessarily worldly gain, though that would be a factor,
too."
Fascinating Facts had been staring straight ahead, his hands
gripping the wheel with unnecessary rigidity. He relaxed a