“A contract without a consideration is void in law,” he reminded her.  “Dad just figured he could bank on your love for me.  He did you the honor to think it was so strong and wonderful that death would be a delirious delight to you in preference to spoiling my career by marrying me—­well—­Elizabeth disillusioned him!”

Nan’s eyebrows lifted perceptibly.

“She informed my father in my presence,” Donald continued, “that you had had a change of heart; that you were now resolved to accept me should I again ask you to marry me.  It appears you had told Andrew Daney this—­in cold blood as it were.  So Dad went to the telephone and verified this report by Daney; then we had a grand show-down and I was definitely given my choice of habitation—­The Dreamerie or the Sawdust Pile.  Father, Mother, Elizabeth and Jane; jointly and severally assured me that they would never receive you, so Nan, dear, it appears that I will have to pay rather a heavy price for the privilege of marrying you—­”

“I have never told you I would marry you,” she cried sharply.

“Yes, you did.  That day in the hospital.”

“That was a very necessary fib and you should not hold it against me.  It was a promise absolutely not made in good faith.”

“But did you tell Daney that you would accept me if I should ask you again to marry me?”

She was visibly agitated but answered him truthfully.  “Yes, I did.”

“You said it in anger?”

“Yes.”  Very softly.

“Daney had come to you with an offer of monetary reward for your invaluable services to the McKaye family, had he not?  And since what you did was not done for profit, you were properly infuriated and couldn’t resist giving Daney the scare of his life?  That was the way of it, was it not?”

Nan nodded and some tears that trembled on her long lashes were flicked off by the vigor of the nod; some of them fell on the big gaunt hands that held hers.

“I suppose you haven’t sufficient money with which to return to New York?” he continued.

Again she nodded an affirmative.

“Just what are your plans, dear?”

“I suppose I’ll have to go somewhere and try to procure a position as a cook lady.”

“An admirable decision,” he declared enthusiastically.  “I’ll give you a job cooking for me, provided you’ll agree to marry me and permit me to live in your house.  I’m a man without a home and you’ve just got to take me in, Nan.  I have no other place to lay my weary head.”

She looked at him and through the blur of her tears she saw him smiling down at her, calmly, benignantly and with that little touch of whimsicality that was always in evidence and which even his heavy heart could not now subdue.

“You’ve—­you’ve—­chosen the Sawdust Pile?” she cried incredulously.

“How else would a man of spirit choose, old shipmate?”

“But you’re not marrying me to save me from poverty, Donald?  You must be certain you aren’t mistaking for love the sympathy which rises so naturally in that big heart of yours.  If it’s only a great pity—­if it’s only the protective instinct—­”