ortant."

He took the letter home with him and placed it in a locked drawer of
his desk, along with a hard and shrunken doughnut, tied with a bow of
Christmas ribbon, which had once helped to adorn the Christmas tree they
had trimmed together. There were other things in the drawer; a postcard
photograph, rather blurred, of Lily in the doorway of her little hut,
smiling; and the cigar box which had been her cash register at the camp.

He stood for some time looking down at the post card; it did not seem
possible that in the few months since those wonderful days, life could
have been so cruel to them both. Lily married, and he himself--

Ellen came up when he was tying his tie. She stood behind him, watching
him in the mirror.

"I don't know what you've done to your hair, Willy," she said; "it
certainly looks queer."

"It usually looks queer, so why worry, heart of my heart?" But he turned
and put an arm around her shoulders. "What would the world be without
women like you, Ellen?" he said gravely.

"I haven't done anything but my duty," Ellen said, in her prim voice.
"Listen, Willy. I saw Edith again to-day, and she told me to do
something."

"To go home and take a rest? That's what you need."

"No. She wants me to tear up that marriage license."

He said nothing for a moment. "I'll have to see her first."

"She said it wouldn't be any good, Willy. She's made up her mind." She
watched him anxiously. "You're not going to be foolish, are you? She
says there's no need now, and she's right."

"Somebody will have to look after her."

"Dan can do that. He's changed, since she went." Ellen glanced toward
Mrs. Boyd's empty room. "You've done enough, Willy. You've seen
them through, all of them. I--isn't it time you began to think about
yourself?"

He was putting on his coat, and she picked a bit of thread from it, with
nervous fingers.

"Where are you going to-night, Willy?"

"To the Cardews. Mr. Cardew has sent for me."

She looked up at him.

"Willy, I want to tell you something. The Cardews won't let that
marriage stand, and you know it. I think she cares for you. Don't look
at me like that. I do."

"That's because you are fond of me," he said, smiling down at her.
"I'm not the sort of man girls care about, Ellen. Let's face that. The
General Manager said when he planned me, 'Here's going to be a fellow
who is to have everything in the world, health, intelligence, wit and
the beauty of an Adonis, but h