Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1916)

The Turmoil 263 the conclusion that I must decline your proposal of marriage. I like you, but I do not love you. That is what I repeat to myself, though I realize that such a union would please our parents. I am in the unhappy position of being the penniless daughter of an aristocratic family; and you are in the fortunate position of being the son of the wealthiest man in the Middle West. It is simply a case of money marrying into society. This sounds harsh, but there are some brutal things that must be said. I am sorry for my father and mother, who are as anxious for this marriage as are your parents — ■ particularly your father. But I will not sacrifice my happiness — and probably your own. If we have to move from the old house, I am willing; but I will not make a travesty of what I consider the greatest thing in the world — love. You see, I am perfectly candid with you. You and your father have apparently given up your lives to the making of money. My own ideals are entirely at variance with yours. My belief is that the great achievements of life, in learning, science, art. literature, and all creative work, are much more worth striving for, and produce vastly more satisfaction than piling up money. I hope always to remain, your friend, Mary Vertrees. "A wonderful letter," said Bibbs. "Jim would never have understood it, and I am glad he never received it. Mary has the right idea — when men lock up their lives for gold, the gold key comes too late. I'd like to keep the letter, dad ; it will help to keep me sane amid the turmoil. Would it surprise you to hear that I had grown very fond of Alary?" "I'm sorry to hear it, my boy, because I think you're doomed to disappointment. \rou're a money-maker these days, and Miss Mary turned Jim ■down on that very account.'' "Not on that account alone, dad, I think." Bibbs determined to put the matter to the test without delay, and he went over to the Vertrees mansion. Mary greeted him, as always, with a friendly handclasp. "I want to talk to you very seriously to-day," he began. "I like you in your serious moods," she told him. "Come ! We will stroll in the old rose garden, and you can tell me what's in your thoughts." He went with her through the rear door of the wide hall and into the shaded garden, sweet with the perfume of flowers. "Now, Bibbs, what new, mighty project have you come to talk to me about? I hear you are a spectacular business man, and I quite believe it. for I haven't seen much of you of late." "I was in danger of losing myself in the turmoil, Alary, till I saw a letter of yours." "Of mine?" "Yes, written to poor Jim. It came on the day of his death. He never received it, but my father showed it to me only to-day, and it somehow pulled me up with a jerk and made me ask myself whether I was moving along the right path. When Jim died, I determined on three things : First, to set myself a goal, the goal of filling the shoes of Jim and my unfortunate brother Roscoe ; second, to lav aside every weight, every impediment; third, to get a proper equipment. I reached the goal ; I have put away my attitude of dreamer; I have mastered the science of big business, have secured my proper equipment." "There is one other thing you should have determined upon, Bibbs." "And that?" "To take a friend with you." Shy eyes were gazing into his ; a pulse was beating in the white throat of the girl. "Mary!" he gasped. "Do you mean that you would be that friend?" "More than friend, you poor, blind Bibbs." Her hands reached up to the lapels of his coat. She pulled his head down and kissed him. "I know you