“I wouldn’t care what they’d call it if it would only buy as much,” returned Polly, still good-naturedly.  “And when a regular man like Johnny Gamble hustles out and gets one, just so he can ask to marry you, you ought to give a perfectly vulgar exhibition of joy!”

“You have put it very nicely,” responded Constance.  “If it would only buy as much!  Do you know that my name is seldom mentioned except in connection with a million dollars?  I must either marry one man or lose a million, or marry another who has made a million for that purpose.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” charged Polly.  She glared at Constance a moment, bursting with more indignant things to say; but there were so many of them that they choked her in their attempted egress, and she swished angrily back to the lawn party, exploding most of the way.

At just this inopportune moment Johnny Gamble found his way into the peaceful library.

“Well, it’s across!” he joyously confided, forgetting in his happiness the rebuffs of the day.  “I have that million!” and he approached her with such an evident determination of making an exuberant proposal then and there that Constance could have shrieked.  “I congratulate you,” she informed him as she hastily rose.  “You deserve it, I am sure.  Kindly excuse me, won’t you?” and she sailed out of the room.

Johnny, feeling all awkward joints like a calf, dropped his sailor straw hat, and Constance heard it rolling after her.  With an effort she kept herself from running, knowing full well that if that hat touched her skirt she would drop!

Johnny looked at the hat in dumb reproach, but when he left the room he walked widely round it.  He dared not touch it.

“Ow, I say, Mr. Gamble,” drawled Eugene, passing him in the doorway, “we’ve picked out the puppy.”

While Johnny was still smarting from the burden of that information and wondering what spot of the globe would be most endurable at the present moment, Courtney came through the hall on some hostly errand.

“Say, Johnny,” he blundered in an excess of well-meaning, “why don’t you rest from business for a minute?  Why aren’t you out among some of these shady paths with Constance Joy?  You’ve cinched your million, now go get the girl.”

This was too much for the tortured Johnny, and the smoldering agony within him burst into flame.

“Look here, Courtney!” he declared with a vehemence which really seemed quite unnecessary, “I’m going to marry Constance Joy whether she likes it or not!”

A flash of white at the head of the stairs caught Johnny’s eye.  It was Constance!  There was no hope that she had not heard!

“What’s the matter?” asked Courtney, startled by the remarkable change in his countenance.

“I’ve got the stomach ache!” groaned Johnny with clumsy evasion, though possibly he was truthful after all.

“You must have some whisky,” insisted Courtney, instantly concerned.