Then he remembered something that had been on his mind all afternoon and evening. He wanted to see Pete Stearns. Although he had not encountered him, he took it for granted that Pete must be in the house, inasmuch as his secretary was there.

"Where's Pete Stearns?" he demanded of the butler.

"You mean your valet, sir?"

"Yes."

"He was here a moment ago, sir. Shall I look for him?"

"Tell him I'm going to lick him. No; wait. I'll look for him myself."

With stern deliberation Bill made a search of the first floor, then went up-stairs and began on the second. In his rooms he discovered the man he wanted.

"Put up your hands," said Bill quietly. "I'm going to lick you."

"Why, Bill!"

Pete was never more profoundly astonished.

"Hurry up," said Bill.

"Haven't you licked three men already? What in blazes do you want to lick me for?" demanded Pete.

"For running away with my girl."

"But I didn't do anything of the kind. Instead of running away with her I brought her home, Bill. You don't understand."

"You bet I don't. Ready?"

"No, I'm not ready." And Pete sat on the couch, crossed his legs and clasped his hands around one knee. He knew that Bill Marshall would not open hostilities against a defenseless opponent. But he knew also that in order to avert ultimate castigation he must make an excellent explanation. He decided to tell the exact truth.

"Stand up and be a man," ordered Bill. "We're going to settle things right now."

Pete shook his head firmly.

"Not on your life, Bill. I'm going to tell you a story first. After that——" He shrugged. "Well, after that, if you decide to lick me, you can do it. But if you ever do lick me, Bill Marshall, remember this: I'll poison your coffee some day, if it takes me the rest of my natural life. I'm not going to be a worm. Now, listen."

While Pete was making his explanations up-stairs, Mary Wayne and Aunt Caroline were below, viewing the wreck of the library.

"Part of it was done by my nephew," remarked Aunt Caroline, as she pointed toward several overturned chairs.

Mary blushed at the mention of Aunt Caroline's nephew. Her humiliation in the presence of a crowd of strange men still rankled deep.

"It was awful of him," she said indignantly.

"Not at all," said Aunt Caroline. "Not at all, my dear. But you were not here when it happened, so you cannot be expected to understand. Do you see those chairs? My nephew knocked two men clear across them." She viewed the wreckage almost affectionately. "And before he did that he thrashed a prize-fighter. Yes, my dear; thrashed him and carried him out of the house. Right in my presence he thrashed three men."

Mary Wayne opened her eyes wide. Was it possible she had never discovered the real Aunt Caroline before?

"He thrashed them completely," added Aunt Caroline, with a slight lift of her head. "It was most thoroughly done. I do not believe anybody in the world could have done it better than my nephew. He is very like his father."

Mary gasped.

"My nephew is a true Marshall. I am very much pleased."

"I—I'm so glad to hear it," said Mary faintly.

"Yes, indeed, my dear. Why, do you know——" Aunt Caroline paused to indicate the spot on the floor. "Right where you see me pointing he struck this vulgar prize-fighter senseless. Oh, it is absolutely true. I saw it all. I was standing on that chair over there. My nephew was here." She indicated. "The other man was standing here. It happened exactly as I am going to show you."

And Aunt Caroline proceeded to enact in pantomime the events that led to the downfall of Kid Whaley, reproducing as nearly as she could the exact methods employed by her conquering nephew. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright when she had finished. Mary Wayne was overcome with astonishment.

"But—but the prize-fight that took place before?" faltered Mary.

"That is another matter," said Aunt Caroline, with a wave of her hand. "A minor matter, I think. Now, are you sure you understand exactly what my nephew William did?"

She was preparing to reenact the scene, when they were interrupted by a ringing of the door-bell and a few seconds later by the arrival of Nell Norcross in the library. Nell viewed the wreckage in one swift glance and ran forward with a cry.

"Mary Wayne, whatever in the world has happened?"

Aunt Caroline glanced quickly from one girl to the other, then smiled.

"You two young people are so excited over this thing that you are getting your names mixed," she said.

Nell clapped a hand to her mouth, consternation in her eyes. Mary sighed, looked at Aunt Caroline and shook her head.

"No; we haven't mixed our names," she said. "You may as well understand all about it now, Miss Marshall. I'm—I'm an awful impostor."

Aunt Caroline showed more evidence of perplexity than alarm.

"This is Nell Norcross," said Mary, in a miserable voice. "I am Mary Wayne."

"Dear me!" said Aunt Caroline. "More things to be explained. Well, come back into the sitting-room, both of you. I suppose somebody has been making a fool of me again. But whoever you are, my dear, don't let me forget to tell your friend about my nephew William."

She led the way to the sitting-room. Mary and Nell exchanged glances as they followed. Aunt Caroline was bewildering.

When they returned to the library half an hour later Bill and Pete Stearns were standing there, the latter rendering a vivid narrative of the great battle between Kid Whaley and the Trenton Bearcat. Aunt Caroline walked directly over to the valet.

"I understand you are a Stearns," she said.

Pete made an acknowledgment.

"A grandson of Eliphalet Stearns?"

"Yes, madam."

"Don't 'madam' me. You have done quite enough of that. A son of Grosvenor Stearns?"

"Yes, Aunt Caroline."

She glowered at him for an instant, then her lips began to twitch. But she rallied herself.

"Your grandfather and your father were enemies of my house," she said. "They were both very bad men. I still think so."

Pete wore a pained look, but made no answer.

"But I believe there is some hope for you. Not, however, in the field of theology. In that connection, I will say that I expect you to make a personal explanation to the bishop. I never can. My nephew's secretary has been telling me something of what happened at Larchmont and also on the way home from Larchmont. For a Stearns, I think you have done fairly well."

"Thank you—Aunt Caroline."

Miss Marshall bit her lip.

"I think you may omit that," she said, but not with the severity that she intended to convey. "As I said, you did fully as well as could be expected of a Stearns. For your deception of me I shall never forgive you. That is understood. But I shall not let that stand in the way of safeguarding the reputation of my nephew's secretary. It will be necessary, of course, for you to marry her."

Aunt Caroline was serious again. She meant what she said. She had certain rooted ideas concerning proprieties and they had not been dislodged by the events of a day given over to the shattering of ideals.

Bill Marshall choked. Pete gaped. Nell Norcross went white at the lips and turned away.

"But," began Pete, "it seems to me——"

Aunt Caroline raised her hand.

"It is unfortunate, of course, that she must marry a Stearns. It is not what I would have chosen for the girl. But there shall be no such thing as gossip connected with any person in my household; I will not endure it. You owe her the name of Stearns, poor as it is. I have not discussed the matter with her, but I feel that she will see it as I do."

Bill was watching Mary Wayne with horrified eyes. His knees grew suddenly weak when he saw her nod.

"I have no doubt it is the best thing to do," said Mary.

As she said that she cast a swift glance at Bill Marshall, then bent her head. Nell had crossed the room and was staring out of a window. She was holding a handkerchief to her lips. Pete Stearns was plainly frightened. He looked in the direction of Nell, then at Mary, then at Aunt Caroline, and last of all at Bill.

"There need be no immediate hurry about the wedding," observed Aunt Caroline, "so long as the engagement is announced. I have no doubt the bishop will be glad to perform the ceremony." Turning to Mary: "You can attend to the announcement yourself, my dear."

Mary slowly raised her eyes. Her glance met that of Pete Stearns. It wandered to the figure of Nell, then back to Pete. And then—could he be mistaken?—one of Mary's eyes slowly closed itself and opened again.

"I'll make the announcement whenever you wish, Miss Marshall," said Mary.

"To-morrow," said Aunt Caroline.

Bill Marshall emerged from his coma.

"Not in a million years," he cried.

Aunt Caroline lifted her eyebrows.

"Not while I'm on earth."

Nell Norcross, still standing by the window, half turned and glanced toward the group. She was very pale. Pete Stearns was trying to catch her eye, but she was looking only at Mary.

"Why, William!" said Aunt Caroline. "I do not see how the matter concerns you at all."

"Nor I," said Bill's secretary, throwing him a defiant glance.

"Well I know how it concerns me," shouted Bill. "Before she marries Pete Stearns there's going to be red, red murder! Understand?"

"But, William, she has already said she is willing," said Aunt Caroline.

"I don't care what she says. She doesn't know what she is talking about. She's crazy. There isn't a chance in the world of her marrying Pete Stearns. I'll not stand for it."

Pete again intercepted Mary's glance.

"If she is willing to marry me," remarked Pete, "I don't see where you have any ground for objection."

Bill swept him aside with an arm-thrust that sent him a dozen feet across the room.

"From now on I'm going to manage my own affairs," he announced grimly, "and this is one of them. I'm tired of taking doses that somebody else prescribes for me. I'm through running for society on the opposition ticket. I'm going to do as I please."

"William!"

He glanced at Aunt Caroline, then shook a finger directly under her nose.

"See here, Aunt Caroline—I'm not going to let you marry her off to Pete Stearns, and that settles it. There isn't going to be any argument about it. She's going to marry me!"

"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Caroline. "Why, my dear, is this true?"

She turned to Mary Wayne, who met her with innocent eyes.

"Of course it is not true," answered Mary. "I never thought of such a thing."

"Then you'd better begin thinking of it," warned Bill, "because that's exactly what's going to happen. This is my affair and I'm managing it."

Mary did not deem that it was a politic time to discuss compromises. She had too long a score against Bill Marshall. Inwardly, she was having a glorious time, but it would never do to let Bill know it.

"Do you think that marrying me is entirely your affair?" she demanded.

"Absolutely."

"That I have nothing to say about it?"

"Nothing whatever," said Bill sternly. "Not a word."

"Why, you——"

For an instant Mary feared that she was really going to be angry. This was more than she expected, even from Bill Marshall.

"I won't be talked to in that manner!" she exclaimed, stamping a foot "I—I'll marry Mr. Stearns."

Bill sent a dangerous look in the direction of his valet.

"If you want to see him killed, just you try it," he said. "We've had enough nonsense about this thing. There's going to be no more argument."

Even Mary could not but marvel at the change in Bill Marshall. He seemed suddenly to have grown up. He was not talking with the braggadocio of boyhood. Rather, he had become a man who was desperately resolved to have his own way and would not scruple to get it. But her time had not come yet.

"I'll marry Mr. Stearns," she repeated perversely.

"Aunt Caroline," said Bill quietly, "it's all settled. Miss Norcross and I are to be married."

There was an exchange of glances between Pete, Mary, Nell, and Aunt Caroline. The latter smiled at her nephew.

"Of course," she said, "if Miss Norcross wishes to marry you, William, that's different entirely. But this isn't Miss Norcross, you know; this is Miss Wayne."

And she laid a hand on Mary's arm.

Bill devoted seconds to an effort at comprehension, but without avail. He found four persons smiling at him. It was disconcerting.

"Your name is not Norcross?" he demanded.

Mary shook her head.

"It's Wayne?" he faltered.

"Mary Wayne."

"But, how the——"

He paused again to consider the astounding news. Somebody had been playing tricks on him. They were laughing even now. Suddenly his jaw set again. He transfixed Mary with steady eyes.

"Well, leaving the name part of it aside for a minute, let me ask you this: whose secretary are you?"

"Yours," answered Mary.

"No argument about that, is there?"

"None at all. I always made it perfectly clear that I was your secretary."

"Good," said Bill. "I have a matter of business to be attended to in the office. Come along, Miss Secretary."

He picked her up, tucked her under one arm and walked out of the library. Mary was too amazed even to struggle.

Aunt Caroline stared after them and shook her head.

"Do you know," she said, turning to Pete, "I have a notion that William will have his way about this matter."

"You're damned right he will, Aunt Caroline," said the theological student.