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one thing you can do to stop us from marrying each

other!"

He stood there, pale faced and quivering all

over, and then he said in a hoarse whisper, "Yes there

is. I could tell him about us . . . he wouldn't want you

then." "You wouldn't tell him that. You're much too

honorable, and besides, he already knows."

For long, long moments we glared at each other

. . . and then he ran from the room, slamming the door

so hard behind him it put a long crack in the ceiling

plaster.

Only Carrie accompanied Paul and me to The

Plantation House. "It's too bad Chris doesn't feel well.

I hope he doesn't have the flu. . . . Everyone else does.

'

I didn't say anything, just sat and listened to

Carrie chatter on and on about how much she loved

Christmas and the way it made everything ordinary

look so pretty.

Paul slipped a two-carat diamond ring on my

finger while a huge fire crackled the Yule log, and soft

music played. I did my best to make it a joyous

occasion, laughing, smiling, exchanging long,

romantic looks while we sipped champagne and

toasted each other and our long and happy future

together. I danced with him under the giant crystal

chandeliers and kept my eyes closed, picturing Chris

home alone, sulking in his room and hating me. "We're going to be so happy, Paul," I whispered, standing on the toes of my high-heeled silver slippers. Yes, this was the way our life together would be. Easy. Sweet. Effortless. Just like the lilting, old-fashioned waltz we danced to. Because when you truly loved there were no problems that love couldn't

overcome.

Me. . . and my ideas.