ods's views, at this moment,
as to the advantages of wealth, might have been interesting.

Kathleen stood silent for an instant, eyes downcast, face flushed. She
was trembling.

Then, "Billy," she asked, almost inaudibly, "do--do you still
want--your answer?"

The birds sang about them. Spring triumphed in the gardens. She looked
very womanly and very pretty.

To all appearances, it might easily have been a lover and his lass met
in the springtide, shamefaced after last night's kissing. But Billy,
somehow, lacked much of the elation and the perfect content and the
disposition to burst into melody that is currently supposed to seize
upon rustic swains at such moments. He merely wanted to know if at
any time in the remote future his heart would be likely to resume the
discharge of its proper functions. It was standing still now.

However, "Can you ask--dear?" His words, at least, lied gallantly.

The poor woman looked up into Billy's face. After years of battling
with the world, here for the asking was peace and luxury and wealth
incalculable, and--as Kathleen thought--a love that had endured since
they were boy and girl together. Yet she shrunk from him a little and
clinched her hands before she spoke.

"Yes," Kathleen faltered, and afterward she shuddered.

And here, if for the moment I may prefigure the Eagle as a sentient
being, I can imagine his chuckle.

"Please God," thought poor Billy, "I will make her happy. Yes, please
God, I can at least do that, since she cares for me."

Then he kissed her.

"My dear," said he, aloud, "I'll try to make you happy. And--and you
don't mind, do you, if I leave you now?" queried this ardent lover.
"You see, it's absolutely necessary I should see--see Miss Hugonin
about this will business. You don't mind very much, do you--darling?"
Mr. Woods inquired of her, the last word being rather obviously an
afterthought.

"No," said she. "Not if you must--dear."

Billy went away, lugging a heart of lead in his breast.

Kathleen stared after him and gave a hard, wringing motion of her
hands. She had done what many women do daily; the thing is common and
sensible and universally commended; but in her own eyes, the draggled
trollop of the pavements was neither better nor worse than she.

At the entrance of the next walkway Billy encountered Felix
Kennaston--alone and in the most ebulliently mirthful of humours.

XX

But we had left Mr. Kennaston, I think, in company wi