“For absolute inane, insensate romanticism,” said he, “I recommend you to the recently engaged.  You used to have some sense.  You were clever enough to refuse me and now you go and forever ruin my opinion of you by making a remark like that.”

“It is not romanticism at all,” she maintained.  “It is the best of common sense.  You will never be satisfied with anyone you haven’t trained and formed to suit your own ideals.  And you will never find such a ‘quick study’ as Mary.”

It was the earliest peep of spring and Burgess stopped on his way to Miss Masters’ house and bought a sheaf of white hyacinths and pale maiden hair for the little Lady Hyacinth who was waiting for him.

As soon as he was alone with her he managed to distract her attention from her flowers and to make her listen to Marsden’s message.  He set the case before her plainly.  Without exaggeration and without extenuation.

“And we don’t expect you,” he ended, “to make up your mind at once.  You must consult your relatives and friends.”

“I have no relatives,” she answered.

“Your friends then.”

“I don’t think I have many.  Some of the girls in the club perhaps.  The old book-keeper in the store where I work, perhaps Miss Masters.”

“And you have me,” he interrupted.  But she smiled at him and shook her head.  “You were real kind about the play,” said she, “but the play’s all over now.  I guess you’d better tell your friend that I’ll take the position.  I have been getting pretty tired of work in the store and I’d like to try this if he don’t mind.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t go into it like that,” Burgess protested, “just for the want of something better.  Acting is an art—­a great art—­you must be glad and proud.”

“I’ll try it,” she said without enthusiasm.  “If you feel that way about it I’ll try it.  It can’t be worse than the store.  The store is just horrible.  Oh!  Mr. Burgess you can’t think what it is to be Ophelia in the evening with princes loving you and then to be a cashier in the day-time that any fresh customer thinks he can get gay with.  Maybe if I was an actress I could be Ophelia oftener.  I’d do anything, Mr. Burgess, to get away from the store.”

Burgess did not answer immediately.  Her earnestness had rather overcome her and he waited silently while she walked to the window, surreptitiously pressed her handkerchief against her eyes and conquered the sobs that threatened to choke her.  Burgess watched her.  The trimness of her figure, the absolute neatness and propriety of her dress, the poise and restraint of her manner.  Then she turned and he rose to meet her.

“Mary,” said he, “you never in all the time I’ve known you have failed to do what I asked you.  Will you do something for me now?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered simply.

“Then sit down in that chair and take this watch of mine in your hand and don’t say one single, solitary, lonely word for five minutes.  No matter what happens:  no matter what anyone says or does.  Will you promise?”