“Why, think of it,” he continued.  “For each day sacrificed to Barbara I must deduct something like twenty-five hundred dollars.  A long campaign would put me irretrievably in the hole; I’d get so far behind that a holocaust couldn’t put me even.  She can’t expect that of me, yet girls are such idiots about devotion, and of course she doesn’t know what a heavy task I’m facing.  And there are the others—­what will they do while I am out of the running?  I cannot go to her and say, ’Please, may I have a year’s vacation?  I’ll come back next September.’  On the other hand, I shall surely neglect my business if she expects me to compete.  What pleasure shall I get out of the seven millions if I lose her?  I can’t afford to take chances.  That Duke won’t have seven millions next September, it’s true, but he’ll have a prodigious argument against me, about the twenty-first or second.”

Then a brilliant thought occurred to him which caused him to ring for a messenger-boy with such a show of impatience that Rawles stood aghast.  The telegram which Monty wrote was as follows: 

Swearengen Jones,

Butte, Montana

May I marry and turn all property over to wife, providing she will have me?

Montgomery Brewster.

“Why isn’t that reasonable?” he asked himself after the boy had gone.  “Making property over to one’s wife is neither a loan nor is it charity.  Old Jones might call it needless extravagance, since he’s a bachelor, but it’s generally done because it’s good business.”  Monty was hopeful.

Following his habit in trouble, he sought Margaret Gray, to whom he could always appeal for advice and consolation.  She was to come to his next dinner-party, and it was easy to lead up to the subject in hand by mentioning the other guests.

“And Barbara Drew,” he concluded, after naming all the others.  They were alone in the library, and she was drinking in the details of the dinner as he related them.

“Wasn’t she at your first dinner?” she asked, quickly.

He successfully affected mild embarrassment.

“Yes.”

“She must be very attractive.”  There was no venom in Peggy’s heart.

“She is attractive.  In fact, she’s one of the best, Peggy,” he said, paving the way.

“It’s too bad she seems to care for that little Duke.”

“He’s a bounder,” he argued.

“Well, don’t take it to heart.  You don’t have to marry him,” and Peggy laughed.

“But I do take it to heart, Peggy,” said Monty, seriously.  “I’m pretty hard hit, and I want your help.  A sister’s advice is always the best in a matter of this sort.”

She looked into his eyes dully for an instant, not realizing the full importance of his confession.

“You, Monty?” she said, incredulously.