to--morrow. We went on with it as a speculation. Now we've
clinched the thing. When shall I send it up from the office?"

"I'll look it over, but--"

"And," interrupted Guilder, "you had better get that Miss White for the
Virgin--before she goes off somewhere out of reach."

Drene looked up somberly:

"I haven't kept in touch with her. I don't know what her engagements may
be."

"One of her engagements just now seems to be to go about with Graylock,"
said Guilder.

Drene flushed, but said nothing.

"If he marries her," added Guilder, "as it's generally understood he
is trying to, the best sculptor's model in town is out of the question.
Better secure her now."

"He wants to marry her?" repeated Drene, in a curiously still voice.

"He's mad about her. He's abject. It's no secret among his friends. Men
like that--and of that age--sometimes arrive at such a terminal--men
with Graylock's record sometimes get theirs. She has given him a run,
believe me, and he's brought up with a crash against a stone wall. He is
lying there all doubled up at her feet like a rabbit with a broken back.
There was nothing left for him to do but lie there. He's lying there
still, with one of her little feet on his bull neck. All the town knows
it."

"He wants to marry her," repeated Drene, as though to himself.

"She may not take him at that. They're queer--some women. I suppose
she'd jump at it if she were not straight. But there's another thing--"
Guilder looked curiously at Drene. "Some people think she's rather crazy
about you."

Drene gazed into space.

"But that wouldn't hurt her," added Guilder, in his calm, pleasant
voice. "She's a straight little thing--white and straight. She could
come to no harm through a man like you."

Drene continued to stare at space.

"So," continued the other, confident, "when she recovers from a natural
and childlike infatuation for you she'll marry somebody... Possibly even
such a man as Graylock might make her happy. You can't ever tell about
such men at the eleventh hour."

Drene turned his eyes on him. There was no trace of color in his face.

"Aren't you pretty damned charitable?"

"Charitable? Well, I--I'm so inclined, I fancy."

"You'd be content to see that girl marry a dog like that?"

"I did not say so. I am no judge of men. No man knows enough to condemn
souls."

Drene looked at him:

"Well, I'll tell you something. I know enough to do it. I had rather
damn my soul--and