ing like that about it, I'm not likely to want you to marry him."
"It would make you so happy," sobbed Ann.
"Yes, but we've got to think of the boy, don't forget that," laughed Abner. "Perhaps he might object."
"He would. I know he would," cried Ann with conviction. "He's no better than I am."
"Have you been asking him to?" demanded Abner, springing up from his chair.
"Not to marry me," explained Ann. "But I told him he must be an unnatural little beast not to try to like me when he knew how you loved me."
"Helpful way of putting it," growled Abner. "And what did he say to that?"
"Admitted it," flashed Ann indignantly. "Said he had tried."
Abner succeeded in persuading her that the path of dignity and virtue lay in her dismissing the whole subject from her mind.
He had made a mistake, so he told himself. Age may be attracted by contrast, but youth has no use for its opposite. He would send Matthew away. He could return for
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