“That little Warden house—­it don’t cost much—­you’d be surprised.  Rent, I mean.  I can get it now.  I went and looked at it the other day, but then I didn’t think—­” he caught himself on that.  “It don’t cost near as much as this store.  We could furnish up the parlour with pianos—­”

He was startled by that “we,” and began again: 

“That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me.”

“But,” said Lulu.  “You know!  Why, don’t the disgrace—­”

“What disgrace?” asked Cornish.

“Oh,” she said, “you—­you——­”

“There’s only this about that,” said he.  “Of course, if you loved him very much, then I’d ought not to be talking this way to you.  But I didn’t think—­”

“You didn’t think what?”

“That you did care so very much—­about him.  I don’t know why.”

She said:  “I wanted somebody of my own.  That’s the reason I done what I done.  I know that now.”

“I figured that way,” said Cornish.

They dismissed it.  But now he brought to bear something which he saw that she should know.

“Look here,” he said, “I’d ought to tell you.  I’m—­I’m awful lonesome myself.  This is no place to live.  And I guess living so is one reason why I want to get married.  I want some kind of a home.”

He said it as a confession.  She accepted it as a reason.

“Of course,” she said.

“I ain’t never lived what you might say private,” said Cornish.

“I’ve lived too private,” Lulu said.

“Then there’s another thing.”  This was harder to tell her.  “I—­I don’t believe I’m ever going to be able to do a thing with law.”

“I don’t see,” said Lulu, “how anybody does.”

“I’m not much good in a business way,” he owned, with a faint laugh.  “Sometimes I think,” he drew down his brows, “that I may never be able to make any money.”

She said:  “Lots of men don’t.”

“Could you risk it with me?” Cornish asked her.  “There’s nobody I’ve seen,” he went on gently, “that I like as much as I do you.  I—­I was engaged to a girl once, but we didn’t get along.  I guess if you’d be willing to try me, we would get along.”

Lulu said:  “I thought it was Di that you—­”

“Miss Di?  Why,” said Cornish, “she’s a little kid.  And,” he added, “she’s a little liar.”

“But I’m going on thirty-four.”

“So am I!”

“Isn’t there somebody—­”

“Look here.  Do you like me?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Well enough—­”

“It’s you I was thinking of,” said Lulu.  “I’d be all right.”

“Then!” Cornish cried, and he kissed her.

* * * * *

“And now,” said Dwight, “nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit.  I’ve got something on.”

He and Ina and Monona were at dinner.  Mrs. Bett was in her room.  Di was not there.