iew, new ideas, life."

"Not worth a cent cash."

"But life's worth more than cash," she argued.

"Oh, well," he said, with easy masculine tolerance, "so long as you
enjoy it. That's what counts, I suppose; and there's no accounting for
taste."

Despite his own superior point of view, he had an idea that she knew a
lot, and he experienced a fleeting feeling like that of a barbarian
face to face with the evidence of some tremendous culture. To Daylight
culture was a worthless thing, and yet, somehow, he was vaguely
troubled by a sense that there was more in culture than he imagined.

Again, on her desk, in passing, he noticed a book with which he was
familiar. This time he did not stop, for he had recognized the cover.
It was a magazine correspondent's book on the Klondike, and he knew
that he and his photograph figured in it and he knew, also, of a
certain sensational chapter concerned with a woman's suicide, and with
one "Too much Daylight."

After that he did not talk with her again about books. He imagined
what erroneous conclusions she had drawn from that particular chapter,
and it stung him the more in that they were undeserved. Of all unlikely
things, to have the reputation of being a lady-killer,--he, Burning
Daylight,--and to have a woman kill herself out of love for him. He
felt that he was a most unfortunate man and wondered by what luck that
one book of all the thousands of books should have fallen into his
stenographer's hands. For some days afterward he had an uncomfortable
sensation of guiltiness whenever he was in Miss Mason's presence; and
once he was positive that he caught her looking at him with a curious,
intent gaze, as if studying what manner of man he was.

He pumped Morrison, the clerk, who had first to vent his personal
grievance against Miss Mason before he could tell what little he knew
of her.

"She comes from Siskiyou County. She's very nice to work with in the
office, of course, but she's rather stuck on herself--exclusive, you
know."

"How do you make that out?" Daylight queried.

"Well, she thinks too much of herself to associate with those she works
with, in the office here, for instance. She won't have anything to do
with a fellow, you see. I've asked her out repeatedly, to the theatre
and the chutes and such things. But nothing doing. Says she likes
plenty of sleep, and can't stay up late, and has to go all the way to
Berkeley--that's where she lives."

This p