“One could not do that after seeing and talking with you.  I never could have believed it.  Surely no reputable physician would lend his influence to put you in an asylum, yet I know such things have been done.  Your cousin must be a desperate character.  I shall not feel safe until you belong to me.  I saw two men hanging about Mr. Phillips’s house last evening as I went in.  They were looking up at the windows and talking about keeping a close watch on some one named Mary.  One of the men was tall and slight and handsome, with dark hair and eyes; the other was Irish, and wore a coat too large for him, and rubbers.  I went back later in the evening, and the Irishman was hovering about the house.”

The girl looked up with frightened eyes and grasped the arms of her chair excitedly.

“Will you go with me now to a church not far away, where a friend of mine is the pastor, and be married?  Then we can defy all the cousins in creation.  Can’t you trust me?” he pleaded.

“Oh, yes, but——­”

“Is it that you do not love me?”

“No,” she said, and her eyes drooped shyly.  “It seems strange that I dare to say it to you when I have known you so little.”  She lifted her eyes, full of a wonderful love light, and she was glorified to him, all meanly dressed though she was.  The smooth Madonna braids around the shapely head, covered by the soft felt hat, seemed more beautiful to him than all the elaborate head-dresses of modern times.

“Where is the ‘but’ then, dear?  Shall we go now?”

“How can I go in this dress?” She looked down at her shabby shoes, rough black gown, and cheap gloves in dismay, and a soft pink stole into her face.

“You need not.  Your own gown is out in the office in my suit-case.  I brought it with me, thinking you might need it—­hoping you might, I mean;” and he smiled.  “I have kept it always near me; partly because I wanted the comfort of it, partly because I was afraid some one else might find it, and desecrate our secret with their common-place wondering.”

It was at this moment that the matron of the building stepped up to the absorbed couple, resolved to do her duty.  Her lips were pursed to their thinnest, and displeasure was in her face.

The young man arose and asked in a grave tone: 

“Excuse me, but can you tell me whether this lady can get a room here to rest for a short time, while I go out and attend to a matter of business?”

The matron noticed his refined face and true eyes, and she accepted with a good grace the ten-dollar bill he handed to her.

“We charge only fifty cents a night for a room,” she said, glancing at the humble garments of the man’s companion.  She thought the girl must be a poor dependent or a country relative.

“That’s all right,” said the young man.  “Just let the change help the good work along.”

That made a distinct change in the atmosphere.  The matron smiled, and retired to snub the girl with the discontented upper lip.  Then she sent the elevator boy to carry the girl’s suit-case.  As the matron came back to the office, a baggy man with cushioned tires hustled out of the open door into the street, having first cast back a keen, furtive glance that searched every corner of the place.