--you won't," she exclaimed, with a fleeting smile.

"Well, what is it?" he assented. "You might as well get it off now."

And it took all her strength to say: "I don't see how I can marry you.
I've told you the reasons. You're rich, and you have friends who wouldn't
understand--and your children--they wouldn't understand. I--I'm nothing,
I know it isn't right, I know you wouldn't be happy. I've never lived--in
the kind of house you live in and known the kind of people you know, I
shouldn't know what to do."

He took his eyes off the road and glanced down at her curiously. His
smile was self-confident, exultant.

"Now do you feel better--you little Puritan?" he said.

And perforce she smiled in return, a pucker appearing between her
eyebrows.

"I mean it," she said. "I came out to tell you so. I know--it just isn't
possible."

"I'd marry you to-day if I could get a license," he declared. "Why,
you're worth any woman in America, I don't care who she is, or how much
money she has."

In spite of herself she was absurdly pleased.

"Now that is over, we won't discuss it again, do you understand? I've got
you," he said, "and I mean to hold on to you."