success and achievements in life, but between such regard and real affection for the man himself there was a wide gulf.  If she was to be true to the opinions she had always held concerning the marital relationship, she must be candid and honest with herself and with him, no matter what material advantages were to be gained by such a union.  No happiness could come of a marriage that was not based on material regard or affection.  They had known each other too short a time.  He might think now that he cared for her very much, yet it might not be love which he felt for her at all, but only a horrible counterfeit, which goes by the same name and which, like a fierce flame, flares up suddenly and then dies down again.  She was sufficiently sophisticated and world-wise to gauge at its true worth the violent attraction for the opposite sex which passion engenders in some men—­an irresistible, uncontrollable desire, which must be satisfied at any cost, even at the price of their own happiness.  Afterwards, when the novelty had worn off, he might be sorry and she would be very, very unhappy.  Was it worth the sacrifice?

Stafford, bending over the arm of the chair on which she was seated, came so near that he almost touched her.  She could feel his warm breath on her cheek.  His eyes ardently fixed on hers, he whispered: 

“Virginia—­will you make a home for me?  Will you be my wife?”

[Illustration:  “VIRGINIA—­WILL YOU MAKE A HOME FOR ME?” PAGE 137]

Startled, the girl drew back as if she had been stung.  She had expected the proposal, yet when it came she was taken completely by surprise.

“Your wife!” she faltered.

“Yes—­my wife.”

She turned and looked straight at him.  Agitated as she was within, her manner did not betray it.  Calmly she said: 

“You take me by surprise.  I am greatly flattered, but—­is it not rather sudden?  We know so little of each other—­”

Impulsively he seized her hand, and held it tight in his.  She did not attempt to withdraw it.  He was so moved that he could scarcely control his voice: 

“I do not have to know you long to be convinced that you are the only woman with whom I could be happy.”

“But are you convinced?” she persisted.  “Do you really love me?”

Abruptly he released her hand and sat up.  In his eyes flashed the same ardor as before, but somehow the expression of his face had changed.  He was no longer the eager unsophisticated lover, ready to do anything, say anything, in order to gain his end, but the resourceful, masterly man, accustomed to direct and control his own affairs, the man who will brook no interference with his will, even from the woman who may bear his name.  Slowly, almost coldly, he replied: 

“You wish for the truth?”

“Yes.”