room and went out of the house. Deborah sat rigid. She
trembled and the tears came. She brushed them angrily away. Struggling to
control herself, presently she grew quieter. Frowning, with her clear gray
eyes intently staring before her, she did not see her father come into the
doorway. He stopped with a jerk at sight of her face.

"What's the matter?" he asked. She started.

"Nothing's the matter! How is Bruce?"

"I don't know. Who went out a few minutes ago?"

"Allan Baird," she answered.

"Oh. You explained to him, of course, about Lake--"

"Yes, he understands," she said. "He won't come here after this--"

Roger looked at her sharply, wondering just what she meant. He hesitated.
No, he would wait.

"Good-night," he said, and went upstairs.

CHAPTER XXXVI

On the morrow Bruce did not grow better. If anything, the child grew worse.
But by the next morning the crisis had passed. In the house the tension
relaxed, and Roger suddenly felt so weak that he went to see his own
physician. They had a long and serious talk. Later he went to his office,
but he gave little heed to his work. Sitting there at his desk, he stared
through the window far out over the city. A plan was forming in his mind.

At home that night, at dinner, he kept watching Deborah, who looked tired
and pale and rather relaxed. And as soon as she was out of the house he
telephoned Allan to come at once.

"It's something which can't wait," he urged.

"Very well, I'll come right up."

When Baird arrived a little later, Roger opened the door himself, and they
went back into his study.

"Sit down," he said. "Smoke, Allan?"

"No, thanks." Baird looked doubly tall and lean, his face had a gaunt
appearance; and as he sat down, his lithe supple right hand slowly closed
on the arm of his chair.

"Now then," began Roger, "there are two things we want to get clear on. The
first is about yourself and Deborah. There has been trouble, hasn't there?"

"Yes."

"She has made up her mind not to marry you."

"Yes."

"I guessed as much." And Roger paused. "Do you mind my asking questions?

"No--"

"Are you still in love with her, Allan?"

"I am."

"And she with you?"

"I think so."

"Then it's the same old trouble."

"Yes." And he told a part of what she had said. As he talked in clear,
terse, even tones, Baird's steady eyes had a tortured light, the look of a
man who has almost reached the end of his endurance. Roger smoked in
s