to
return to the fire.

"No," she objected. "There is one song still lacking. You've not sung
_The Rosary_ yet."

His stride across the room never hesitated, although duller ears than
his own could not have mistaken the wish in her voice.

"I have worn out _The Rosary_," he said briefly. "I shall have to let it
rest for a while."

"I am sorry. I loved it."

He laughed mirthlessly.

"It is the weakest kind of sentimentality, Miss Gannion. The song itself
amounts to very little; it is merely a question of the key."

"I am sorry," she repeated, still a little sadly. "I have cared a good
deal for the song."

Thayer made no answer, and she sat looking up at him with a steady
wishfulness which made him uneasy. Her next words, though chosen by
chance, increased his uneasiness.

"Have you seen Miss Dane, since you came back?"

"I was there, yesterday."

"How did she seem to you?"

His steady eyes met hers without wavering.

"I don't quite understand what you mean by the question."

Miss Gannion varied the form of her words.

"Did you think she looked well?"

"Very."

"And yet, I don't think Beatrix is happy," Miss Gannion said, half to
herself.

"Why not?"

"How can she be? Beatrix is not dense. She thinks things, and she must
know the uncertainty of the future."

"But I thought it was quite certain." There was a level monotony in
Thayer's accent.

"You think Mr. Lorimer has really reformed and is out of danger?" Miss
Gannion asked quickly.

"I wish he had," Thayer answered half involuntarily.

"Then there is still trouble?"

But already Thayer was once more upon his guard.

"I have heard of nothing since I came home."

"Have you seen Mr. Lorimer?"

"No."

There was a curt brevity in his manner which was new to Miss Gannion. In
spite of herself, it set her to wondering whether prosperity had been
good for her friend, whether the consciousness of his own importance
were making him indifferent to the interests of others. Perhaps, after
all, it was true that he was becoming impersonal. He might be growing
larger; he was certainly growing more remote from her life. Miss
Gannion cared for Thayer. Now, while she watched him, her eyes were
lighted with an almost fierce affection, even though her disappointment
made her voice take on a hard, metallic ring, as she asked,--

"Are you turning your back upon the problem of your old friend, Mr.
Thayer?"

"No," he answered; "but I thought we had s