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So, Carter ran to find Cuthbert, and told him The Scout had gone lame. When, on their return, Miss Ingram refused to loosen her hold on The Scout’s nose, Cuthbert apologetically mumbled Carter’s name, and in some awe Miss Ingram’s name, and then, to his surprise, both young people lost interest in The Scout, and wandered away together into the rain.

After an hour, when they parted at the club stand, for which Carter could not afford a ticket, he asked wistfully: “Do you often come racing?” and Miss Ingram said: “Do you mean, am I coming to-morrow?”

“I do!” said Carter.

“Then, why didn’t you say that?” inquired Miss Ingram. “Otherwise I mightn’t have come. I have the Holland House coach for to-morrow, and, if you’ll join us, I’ll save a place for you, and you can sit in our box.

“I’ve lived so long abroad,” she explained, “that I’m afraid of not being simple and direct like other American girls. Do you think I’ll get on here at home? “

“If you get on with every one else as well as you’ve got on with me,” said Carter morosely, I will shoot myself.”

Miss Ingram smiled thoughtfully. “At eleven, then,” she said, “in front of the Holland House.”

Carter walked away with a flurried, heated suffocation around his heart and a joyous lightness in his feet. Of the first man he met he demanded, “Who was the beautiful girl in the rain-coat?” And when the man told him, Carter left him without speaking. For she was quite the richest girl in America. But the next day that fault seemed to distress her so little that Carter, also, refused to allow it to rest on his conscience, and they were very happy. And each saw that they were happy because they were together.

The ridiculous mother was not present at the races, but after Carter began to call at their house and was invited to dinner, Mrs. Ingram received him with her habitual rudeness. As an impediment in the success of her ambition she never considered him. As a boy friend of her daughter’s, she classed him with “her” lawyer and “her” architect and a little higher than the “person” who arranged the flowers. Nor, in her turn, did Dolly consider her mother; for within two months another matter of controversy between Dolly and Carter was as to who had first proposed to the other. Carter protested there never had been any formal proposal, that from the first they had both taken it for granted that married they would be. But Dolly insisted that because he had been afraid of her money, or her mother, he had forced her to propose to him.

“You could not have loved me very much,” she complained, “if you’d let a little thing like money make you hesitate.”

“It’s not a little thing,” suggested Carter. “They say it’s several millions, and it happens to be YOURS. If it were MINE, now!” “Money,” said Dolly sententiously, “is given people to make them happy, not to make them miserable.”

“Wait until I sell my stories to the magazines,” said Carter, “and then I will be independent and can support you.”

The plan did not strike Dolly as one likely to lead to a hasty marriage. But he was sensitive about his stories, and she did not wish to hurt his feelings.

“Let’s get married first,” she suggested, “and then I can BUY you a magazine. We’ll call it CARTER’S MAGAZINE and we will print nothing in it but your stories. Then we can laugh at the editors!”

“Not half as loud as they will,” said Carter.

With three thousand dollars in bank and three stories accepted and seventeen still to hear from, and with Dolly daily telling him that it was evident he did not love her, Carter decided they were ready, hand in hand, to leap into the sea of matrimony. His interview on the subject with Mrs. Ingram was most painful. It lasted during the time it took her to walk out of her drawing-room to the foot of her staircase. She spoke to herself, and the only words of which Carter was sure were “preposterous” and “intolerable insolence.” Later in the morning she sent a note to his flat, forbidding him not only her daughter, but the house in which her daughter lived, and even the use of the United States mails and the New York telephone wires. She described his conduct in words that, had they come from a man, would have afforded Carter every excuse for violent exercise.