to the middle of the room, and there
halted dead, staring at her with a look of searching inquiry.

"I don't understand this," he said, in his controlled voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"Mr. West," said Sharlee, "has told me all about it. About the
reformatory. And I'm sorry."

There she stuck. Of all the speeches of prostrate yet somehow noble
self-flagellation which in the night seasons she had so beautifully
polished, not one single word could she now recall. Yet she continued to
meet his gaze, for so should apologies be given though the skies fall;
and she watched as one fascinated the blood slowly ebb from his
close-set face.

"Under the circumstances," he said abruptly, "it was hardly a--a
judicious thing to do. However, let us say no more about it."

He turned away from her, obviously unsteadied for all his even voice.
And as he turned, his gaze, which had shifted only to get away from
hers, was suddenly arrested and became fixed.

In the corner of the room, beside the bookcase holding the works of
Conant, Willoughby, and Smathers, lay the great pleasure-dog Behemoth,
leonine head sunk upon two massive outstretched paws. But Behemoth was
not asleep; on the contrary he was overlooking the proceedings in the
office with an air of intelligent and paternal interest.

Between Behemoth and young Henry Surface there passed a long look. The
young man walked slowly across the room to where the creature lay, and,
bending down, patted him on the head. He did it with indescribable
awkwardness. Certainly Behemoth must have perceived what was so plain
even to a human critic, that here was the first dog this man had ever
patted in his life. Yet, being a pleasure-dog, he was wholly civil about
it. In fact, after a lidless scrutiny unembarrassed by any recollections
of his last meeting with this young man, he declared for friendship.
Gravely he lifted a behemothian paw, and gravely the young man shook it.

To Behemoth young Mr. Surface addressed the following remarks:--

"West was simply deceived--hoodwinked by men infinitely cleverer than he
at that sort of thing. It was a manly thing--his coming to you now and
telling you; much harder than never to--have made the mistake in the
beginning. Of course--it wipes the slate clean. It makes everything all
right now. You appreciate that."

Behemoth yawned.

The young man turned, and came a step or two forward, both face and
voice under complete control again.

"I