to see you," she said. He thought her
voice sounded rather queer, but he did not take sufficient interest to
speculate about it. When he was with her in the small drawing room on
the second floor, he noted that her eyes were regarding him strangely.
He thought he understood why when she said:

"Aren't you going to kiss me, Fred?"

He put on his good-natured, slightly mocking smile. "I thought you were
too busy for that sort of thing nowadays." And he bent and kissed her
waiting lips. Then he lit a cigarette and seated himself on the sofa
beside her--the sofa at right angles to the open fire. "Well?" he said.

She gazed into the fire for full a minute before she said in a voice of
constraint, "What became of that--that girl--the Miss Hallowell----"

She broke off abruptly. There was a pause choked with those dizzy
pulsations that fill moments of silence and strain. Then with a sob she
flung herself against his breast and buried her face in his shoulder.
"Don't answer!" she cried. "I'm ashamed of myself. I'm ashamed--ashamed!"

He put his arm about her shoulders. "But why shouldn't I answer?" said
he in the kindly gentle tone we can all assume when a matter that
agitates some one else is wholly indifferent to us.

"Because--it was a--a trap," she answered hysterically. "Fred--there was
a man here this afternoon--a man named Tetlow. He got in only because
he said he came from you."

Norman laughed quietly. "Poor Tetlow!" he said. "He used to be your head
clerk--didn't he?"

"And one of my few friends."

"He's not your friend, Fred!" she cried, sitting upright and speaking
with energy that quivered in her voice and flashed in her fine brown
eyes. "He's your enemy--a snake in the grass--a malicious,
poisonous----"

Norman's quiet, even laugh interrupted. "Oh, no," said he. "Tetlow's a
good fellow. Anything he said would be what he honestly
believed--anything he said about me."

"He pleaded that he was doing it for your good," she went on with scorn.
"They always do--like the people that write father wicked anonymous
letters. He--this man Tetlow--he said he wanted me for the sake of my
love for you to save you from yourself."

Norman glanced at her with amused eyes. "Well, why don't you? But then
you _are_ doing it. You're marrying me, aren't you?"

Again she put her head upon his shoulder. "Indeed I am!" she cried. "And
I'd be a poor sort if I let a sneak shake my confidence in you."

He patted her shoulder