“Oh, yes, I do,” she sobbed.  “But—­I love you, too.”

“Then everything else will straighten out of itself.  Help me, Madelene.  Help me to be what we both wish me to be—­what I can’t help being, with you by my side.”

When a vanity of superiority rests on what used to be, it dies much harder than when it rests upon what is.  But Arthur’s self-infatuation, based though it was on the “used-to-be,” then and there crumbled and vanished forever.  Love cleared his sight in an instant, where reason would have striven in vain against the stubborn prejudices of snobbism.  Madelene’s instinct had searched out the false ring in his voice and manner; it was again instinct that assured her all was now well.  And she straightway, and without hesitation from coquetry or doubt, gave herself frankly to the happiness of the love that knows it is returned in kind and in degree.

“Yes, everything else will come right,” she said.  “For you are strong, Arthur.”

“I shall be,” was his reply, as he held her closer.  “Do I not love a woman who believes in me?”

“And who believes because she knows.”  She drew away to look at him.  “You are like your father!” she exclaimed.  “Oh, my dear, my love, how rich he made you—­and me!”

* * * * *

At breakfast, the next morning, he broke the news to his mother.  Instead of returning his serene and delighted look she kept her eyes on her plate and was ominously silent.  “When you are well acquainted with her, mother, you’ll love her,” he said.  He knew what she was thinking—­Dr. Schulze’s “unorthodox” views, to put it gently; the notorious fact that his daughters did not frown on them; the family’s absolute lack of standing from the point of view of reputable Saint X.

“Well,” said his mother finally, and without looking at her big, handsome son, “I suppose you’re set on it.”

“Set—­that’s precisely the word,” replied Arthur.  “We’re only waiting for your consent and her father’s.”

“I ain’t got anything to do with it,” said she, with a pathetic attempt at a smile.  “Nor the old doctor, either, judging by the look of the young lady’s eyes and chin.  I never thought you’d take to a strong-minded woman.”

“You wouldn’t have her weak-minded, would you, mother?”

“There’s something between.”

“Yes,” said he.  “There’s the woman whose mind is weak when it ought to be strong, and strong when it ought to be weak.  I decided for one like you, mother dear—­one that would cure me of foolishness and keep me cured.”

“A female doctor!”

Arthur laughed.  “And she’s going to practice, mother.  We shouldn’t have enough to live on with only what I’d make—­or am likely to make anyway soon.”

Mrs. Ranger lifted her drooping head in sudden panic.

“Why, you’ll live here, won’t you?”

“Of course,” replied Arthur, though, as a matter of fact, he hadn’t thought where they would live.  He hastened to add, “Only we’ve got to pay board.”