Alice sat up very straight. "Then you had better run right along and find your guardian," she urged. "We business women have no time for such trifles."

"So you shirk your responsibility, do you?" Allen looked at her so reproachfully, and spoke with such quiet firmness that she ceased her bantering.

"What responsibility am I shirking?" she demanded.

"Me; I am the greatest responsibility you have, and you are neglecting me shamefully."

Alice gave evidence of becoming amused again, but he gravely checked her.

"For once I am serious, if you can be made to believe it. When we met so accidentally in Washington--well, I was a joke then, I admit; but it's different now. You gave me some new ideas to think about, and the more I've thought about them the more I've seen things your way. And ever since then I've tried hard to do what I thought would please you. But now I'm sick of the whole thing. It may be all my fault; but, anyhow, I wish I were well out of it."

"Why, Allen Sanford!" Her voice showed astonishment and reproach.

"I do," he insisted. "I'd give a whole lot right now if I knew that I never had to go back to the office again."

Alice was genuinely shocked. "I can't understand you," she said, soberly. "If you had felt this way at the beginning, I shouldn't have been so much surprised; but now, just when you are getting to a point where you could be useful to father and to yourself, you begin to show the white feather."

"You mustn't say that, Alice," the boy replied, quickly, his tone showing that she hurt him. "It isn't quitting; it's a question of whether or not I am fitted for business--but you mustn't say that I am showing the white feather. I shan't let even you say that."

"Father says you are making a splendid start." She tried to atone in part for her severity. "That ought to mean a lot to you, for he is a hard man to satisfy."

"Did he say that?" Allen replied, temporarily mollified. "That does mean a whole lot to me; but it's all your doing, and you must take the responsibility. Good or bad, I'm your business creation, and you must stand by it."

"No, Allen; you mustn't put it that way. You settled the matter for yourself when you took the stand you did with your father. Of course I'm more than interested to see you make good, but it isn't for me to accept either the responsibility or the credit."

"We never should have had that sc.r.a.p if it hadn't been for you. I shouldn't have had the nerve."

"Oh, don't say that," she begged.

"It was a good thing all right," he hastened to rea.s.sure her. "Except for that, I should still be wearing pinafores, and it's as much better for the pater as it is for me to have shed them. I'd probably like business all right if I understood the blamed thing; but it isn't the whole show, you know."

"Isn't the business end enough?" she asked, quietly. "It is for me. I can't tell you how much real pleasure I'm getting out of this little scheme father has turned over to me. It makes all the other things which I had tired of seem more interesting."

"Business is all right, of course," he admitted. "You don't get much idea of it just going through those letters, but the real thing is the biggest kind of a game you ever saw. It's a finesse here and a forcing of the opponent's hand there, but it can never be the whole game with me."

"It ought to be. You have your chance right before you now, and you ought not to need anything else to urge you on. Just think, you've got to make good to justify your own position and to keep daddy from having made a mistake."

The boy rose from the arm of the great chair on which he had been resting and advanced to the little desk behind which Alice sat. With his hands on the end, he leaned forward until his face was near hers, looking straight into her eyes.

"Perhaps I don't need anything else," he said in a low, firm tone, "but it wouldn't be honest not to tell you that the same something which I had in mind before I started in business has been there ever since. The game is enough in itself, of course, if that's all it can be. But don't you see what a different proposition it is when a fellow sees a dear girl's face ahead of him in the distance just beyond each obstacle which he has to meet? Don't you know how much better you always play a game when there's something up on it?"

Alice was plainly disappointed. "But you are playing for high stakes always, Allen; there's success for the winner and failure for the loser."

"With a big side wager in the dear girl's face just ahead," he added.

"I've got to keep that hope in my heart, Alice, to help me to make good quickly; even though you tell me not to, I can't help it. Why, I have done it so long that even if I knew this minute you were going to marry that Covington person, I believe I'd keep right on--hoping to get a chance to be your second husband."

This was too much for the girl's equilibrium, and she laughed in spite of herself. She failed to sense the personal side of Allen's declaration. He was developing, and this to her was only a phase.

"You are simply impossible," she replied; "but we might as well understand each other right now. I have no idea of marrying any one.

Perhaps some day I shall change my mind if the man comes along who is enough stronger than I am to sweep away all the objections."

"Does Mr. Covington seem likely to be that man?" Allen asked, pertinently.

"I have no more idea of marrying him than he has of marrying me," Alice stated, flatly. "I admire him extravagantly. He is a self-made man--"

"The good Lord must be pleased to be relieved of that responsibility,"

Allen interrupted, ill-naturedly.

"You mustn't be so prejudiced against him," she reproved him. "He is one of the ablest business men in New York--daddy has told me that--yet, out of respect to my father and kindness to me, he is giving me more of his time, I know, than he can spare. I am very grateful to him."

"Well"--Allen started to take his departure--"we don't seem to have made much progress; but, at any rate, you know where I stand. I shan't buy any crepe until I receive the wedding cards, and in the mean time"--he bowed very low--"please don't overlook the fact that yours truly is your greatest responsibility, and one which you can't shake off."

Standing in the hall at the foot of the stairs, Allen discovered a figure militant awaiting his descent. Patricia was indignant and excited.

"h.e.l.lo, Lady Pat!" cried Allen. "What's happened?"

Patricia stamped her foot. "Alice is a naughty, naughty girl," she cried, with tears in her eyes. "I don't love her any more."

"Tut, tut." Allen sat on the lowest step and soothed the child. "Alice is all right."

"No, she isn't," Patricia insisted. Then she pulled away from him and again stood very straight, immaculate in her white frock. "I've been listening up-stairs."

"Oh, ho!" Allen shook his finger reproachfully. "Was that a nice thing to do?"

"It was my duty," the child responded, impressively. "I always do that, and I heard what she said; but I will make it up to you."

"That's awfully good of you, Lady Pat."

"You may kiss me." She held her face forward, with her hands still behind her.

Allen drew her into his lap. "There's one for the lips, and one for each eye, and one for each cheek," suiting the action to the word. Patricia worked herself free.

"Now we're engaged," she announced. "You may marry me as soon as you like."

Allen concealed his amus.e.m.e.nt. "I can't marry you because I've made a vow to marry Alice, and it would never do to break a vow, would it?"

"But if the lady won't marry you, then you are released from your vow,"

Patricia explained, showing perfect familiarity with the laws of chivalry.

"Not until she marries some one else," he corrected.

"That's all right," the child a.s.sented, cheerfully; "until then you can be my Knight." Then she majestically untied the ribbon in her hair and held it out to him.

"What's this for?" he inquired.

"For you--to wear always. Every knight in my _Round Table_ book has a token from his lady-love."

"I shall wear it next my heart," Allen told her. "And now, fair Lady Pat, good-bye."