To be sure, the idea was rather staggering. It was distinctly novel, for one thing, and not at all in his line, for another. This, however, was a crisis calling for staggering novelties if it could not be handled in the ordinary way. Ten minutes had already passed. Monte walked slowly to Marjory's side. She turned and met his eyes. On the whole, he would have felt more comfortable had she continued looking out the window. "Marjory," he said--"Marjory, will you marry me?" She shrank away. "Monte!" "I mean it," he said. "Will you marry me?" After the first shock she seemed more hurt than anything. "You are n't going to be like the others?" she pleaded. "No," he assured her. "That's why--well, that's why I thought we might arrange it." "But I don't love you, Monte!" she exclaimed. "Of course not." "And you--you don't love me." "That's it," he nodded eagerly. "Yet you are asking me to marry you?" "Just because of that," he said. "Don't you understand?" She was trying hard to understand, because she had a great deal of faith in Monte and because at this moment she needed him. "I don't see why being engaged to a man you don't care about need bother you at all," he ran on. "It's the caring that seems to make the trouble--whether you 're engaged or not. I suppose that's what ails Teddy." She had been watching Monte's eyes; but she turned away for a second. "Of course," he continued, "you can care--without caring too much. Can't people care in just a friendly sort of way?" "I should think so, Monte," she answered.