and I think they don't make very good wives, real wives to save money
and--and care."

"You seem to know a good deal about these things for your age," said
Howard, much amused and showing it.

"I don't care," she persisted, "you ought to get married."

Howard felt that this was the time to clear the girl's mind of any
"notions" she might have got. He would be very clever, very adroit. He
would not let her suspect that he had any idea of her thoughts. Indeed he
was not perfectly certain that he had. But he would gently and frankly tell
her the truth.

"I shall never get married," he said, sitting up and talking as one who is
discussing a case which he understands thoroughly yet has no personal
interest in. "I haven't the money and I haven't the desire. I am what they
would call a confirmed bachelor. I wouldn't marry any girl who had not been
brought up as I have been. We should be unhappy together unsuited each to
the other. She would soon hate me. Besides, I wish to be free. I care more
for freedom than I ever shall for any human being. As I am now, so I shall
always be, a wandering fellow without ties. It is not a pleasant prospect
for old age. But I have made up my mind to it and I shall never marry."

The girl's hands had dropped limp into her lap; her face was down so that
he could barely see the burning blush which overspread it.

"You don't mean that," she said in a voice that was queer and choked.

"Oh yes, I do, little girl," he answered, intending to smile when she