etly. "Of course one uses the pen with the right hand,"
she said calmly.

"Involuntary act of memory," he rejoined slowly, as she took the pen
in her hand. "You had spoken of a wedding, this was a wedding-gift,
and--that's right, sign there!"

There was a brief pause, in which she appeared to hesitate, and then she
wrote her name in a large firm hand, and, throwing down the pen, caught
up her gloves, and began to pull them on viciously.

"Thanks. It is very kind of you," he said. He put the document in the
tin box, and took out another, as without a word, but with a grave face
in which scorn and trouble were mingled, she now turned towards the
door.

"Can you spare a minute longer?" he said, and advanced towards her,
holding the new document in his hand. "Fair exchange is no robbery.
Please take this. No, not with the right hand; the left is better
luck--the better the hand, the better the deed," he added with a
whimsical squint and a low laugh, and he placed the paper in her left
hand. "Item No. 2 to take the place of item No. 1."

She scrutinised the paper. Wonder filled her face. "Why, this is a
deed of the homestead property--worth three times as much!" she said.
"Why--why do you do this?"

"Remember that questions ruin people sometimes," he answered, and
stepped to the door and turned the handle, as though to show her out.
She was agitated and embarrassed now. She felt she had been unjust, and
yet she felt that she could not say what ought to be said, if all the
rules were right.

"Thank you," she said simply. "Did you think of this when--when you
handed me back the ring?"

"I never had an inspiration in my life. I was born with a plan of
campaign."

"I suppose I ought to--kiss you!" she said in some little confusion.

"It might be too expensive," he answered, with a curious laugh. Then he
added lightly: "This was a fair exchange"--he touched the papers--"but I
should like you to bear witness, madam, that I am no robber!" He opened
the door. Again there was that curious penetrating note in his voice,
and that veiled look. She half hesitated, but in the pause there was a
loud voice below and a quick foot on the stairs.

"It's Billy!" she said sharply, and passed out.

CHAPTER VI. THE WIND AND THE SHORN LAMB

A half-hour later Charley Steele sat in his office alone with Billy
Wantage, his brother-in-law, a tall, shapely fellow of twenty-four.
Billy had been drinking, his face was flushed, and h