at him as he stood behind her. The expression in his golden eyes as they met hers set her heart to beating wildly. The blood seemed to pound in her temples, as she said:
"I am not going to marry Neale."
"What!"
"I made up my mind yesterday."
"What happened?"
"Something that I'll tell you sometime. I feel now as if I had never intended to marry him. I was like a person in a nightmare and couldn't wake up."
He dropped into the chair opposite her and leaned across the table. Again that look in his eyes made her heart beat. "It's a remarkable thing, Sally, that I should have made up my mind before I got your telegram to come to you today. I had made up my mind to beg you not to marry Neale. I had made up my mind to ask you to marry me!"
From across the table Sally stared at him. "You are just saying that . . . as a joke. . . ." Her lips were dry.
"I'm not. I swear it. I've wanted it for a long time—ever since your letters began to come to me from Paris. But I didn't know positively until one night when I was talking with Uncle Buck—"
Christopher came in with tea and muffins and departed hastily. Any one with half an eye could see what was happening. Merry went on as if there had been no interruption.
"After he died, I was tied up with things I had to do. Yet I knew the time before your wedding was short. So last night I packed my bag . . . and now you tell
