in
her eyes, "to give you something to think about the sixth day, I'll
tell you that I really was hungry--when I asked you for your toast. I
haven't had anything to eat to-day; and--"

[Illustration: "What?" cried Stanton, plunging forward in his chair]

Before she could finish the sentence Stanton had sprung from his
chair, and stood trying to reason out madly whether one single more
stride would catch her, or lose her.

"And as for something for you to think about the seventh day and
night," she gasped hurriedly. Already the door had opened to her hand
and her little figure stood silhouetted darkly against the bright,
yellow-lighted hallway, "here's something for you to think about for
_twenty_-seven days and nights!" Wildly her little hands went
clutching at the woodwork. "I didn't know you were engaged to be
married," she cried out passionately, "and I _loved_ you--_loved_
you--_loved_ you!"

Then in a flash she was gone.

IX

With absolute finality the big door banged behind her. A minute later
the street door, four flights down, rang out in jarring reverberation.
A minute after that it seemed as though every door in every house on
the street slammed shrilly. Then the charred fire-log sagged down into
the ashes with a sad, puffing sigh. Then a whole row of books on a
loosely packed shelf toppled over on each other with soft jocose
slaps.

Crawling back into his Morris chair with every bone in his body aching
like a magnetized wire-skeleton charged with pain, Stanton collapsed
again into his pillows and sat staring--staring into the dying fire.
Nine o'clock rang out dully from the nearest church spire; ten
o'clock, eleven o'clock followed in turn with monotonous, chiming
insistency. Gradually the relaxing steam-radiators began to grunt and
grumble into a chill quietude. Gradually along the bare, bleak
stretches of unrugged floor little cold draughts of air came creeping
exploringly to his feet.

And still he sat staring--staring into the fast graying ashes.

"Oh, Glory! Glory!" he said. "Think what it would mean if all that
wonderful imagination were turned loose upon just one fellow! Even if
she didn't love you, think how she'd play the game! And if she did
love you--Oh, lordy; Lordy! LORDY!"

Towards midnight, to ease the melancholy smell of the dying lamp, he
drew reluctantly forth from his deepest blanket-wrapper pocket the
little knotted handkerchief that encased the still-treasured handf