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Elizabeth Compton had noticed this fact, too, and commented upon it one
evening when Bince was at her home.
"
What's the matter with you, Harold?" she asked. "You look as though you are on
the verge of nervous prostration."
"I've had enough to make any man nervous," retorted Bince irritably. "I can't get
over this terrible affair, and in addition I have had all the weight and
responsibility of the business on my shoulders since, and the straightening out of
your father's estate, which, by the way, was in pretty bad shape.
"I wish, Elizabeth," he went on, "that we might be married immediately. I have
asked you so many times before, however, and you have always refused, that I
suppose it is useless now. I believe that I would get over this nervous condition if
you and I were settled down here together. I have no real home, as you know--the
club is just a stopping place. I might as well be living at a hotel. If after the day's
work I could come home to a regular home it would do me a world of good, I
know. We could be married quietly. There is every reason why we should,
especially now that you are left all alone."
"
Just what do you mean by immediately?" she asked.
To-morrow," he replied.
"
For a long time she demurred, but finally she acceded to his wishes, for an early
marriage, though she would not listen to the ceremony being performed the
following day. They reached a compromise on Friday morning, a delay of only a
few days, and Harold Bince breathed more freely thereafter than he had for a long
time before.
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