feeling that you would do it. But don't you see,--even from you it
is an offer of help, and it hurts."

"Don't talk like that, Peggy," he implored.

"It would break her heart if you offered to give her money in that
way. She'd hate it, Monty. It is foolish, perhaps, but you know we
can't take your money."

"I thought you--that you--oh, this knocks all the joy out of it,"
he burst out desperately.

"Dear Monty!"

"Let's talk it over, Peggy; you don't understand--" he began,
dashing at what he thought would be a break in her resolve.

"Don't!" she commanded, and in her blue eyes was the hot flash he
had felt once or twice before.

He rose and walked across the floor, back and forth again, and
then stood before her, a smile on his lips--a rather pitiful
smile, but still a smile. There were tears in her eyes as she
looked at him.

"It's a confounded puritanical prejudice, Peggy," he said in
futile protest, "and you know it."

"You have not seen the letters that came for you this morning.
They're on the table over there," she replied, ignoring him.