“This is serious, Dan,” Allen remonstrated, twirling his straw hat nervously.  “All that happened in connection with the smash-up didn’t get into the newspapers.”

“The ‘Advertiser’ had enough of it:  they printed, published, and uttered an extra with Marian’s picture next to yours on the first page!  You can’t complain of the publicity you got out of that light adventure.  How much space do you think it was worth?”

“Stop chaffing and hear me out!  I’m up against a whole lot of trouble, and I came to get your advice.  You see, Dan, the Bassetts didn’t know Marian was going on that automobile trip.  Her mother had written her to leave the Willings’ and go home—­twice!  And her father telegraphed—­after we left the farm.  She never got the telegram.  Then, when Mr. Bassett read of the smash in the papers, I guess he was warm clear through.  You know he doesn’t cut loose very often; and—­”

“And he jumped on the train and went to Chicago to snatch Marian away from the Willings?  I should think he would have done just that.”

“No; oh, no!  He sent Sylvia!” cried Allen.  “Sylvia came up on the night train, had a few words privately with Marian, took luncheon with the Willings, all as nice as you please, and off she went with Marian.”

Harwood pressed his thumb into his pipe-bowl and puffed in silence for a moment.  Allen, satisfied that he had at last caught his friend’s attention, fanned himself furiously with his hat.

“Well,” said Dan finally, “there’s nothing so staggering in that.  Sylvia’s been staying at the lake:  I suppose Mrs. Bassett must have asked her to go up and bring Marian home when the papers screamed her daughter’s name in red ink.  I understand that Mrs. Bassett’s ill, and I suppose Bassett didn’t like to leave her.  There’s nothing fuddlesome in that.  Sylvia probably did the job well.  She has the habit.  What is there that troubles you about it, Allen?”

His heart had warmed at the mention of Sylvia, and he felt more kindly toward Allen now that she had flashed across his vision.  Many times a day he found Sylvia looking up at him from the pages of his books; this fresh news brought her near.  Sylvia’s journey to Chicago argued an intimacy with the Bassetts that he did not reconcile with his knowledge of her acquaintance with the family.  He was aroused by the light touch of Allen’s hand on his knee.  The young man bent toward him with a bright light in his eyes.

“You know,” he said, “Marian and I are engaged!”

“You’re what?” bellowed Dan.

“We’re engaged, old man; we’re engaged!  It happened there at the Willings’.  You know I think I loved her from the very first time I saw her!  It’s the beautifullest thing that ever came into my life.  You don’t know how happy I am:  it’s the kind of happiness that makes you want to cry.  Oh, you don’t know; nobody could ever know!”