Gardner and that idiot Valentine by the hour, and I've not said a
word. But there are some things I can't stand, and the impertinence of
Grimes is one of them. Jove! he looked at you, out of those fishy eyes,
sometimes as though he owned you. If you knew how many times I've
fairly ached to knock him down!"

Inwardly Barbara was weakening a little before his masterfulness. But
she gave no sign.

"And it never occurred to you," she said, with that exasperating
coldness of the voice, "that I was equal to the situation. I suppose
you thought Mr. Grimes had only to beckon and I would joyfully answer.
I'll have you know, Monty Brewster, right now, that I am quite able to
choose my friends, and to handle them. Mr. Grimes has character and I
like him. He has seen more of life in a year of his strenuous career
than you ever dreamed of in all your pampered existence. His life has
been real, Monty Brewster, and yours is only an imitation."

It struck him hard, but it left him gentle.

"Babs," he said, softly, "I can't take that from you. You don't really
mean it, do you? Am I as bad as that?"

It was a moment for dominance, and he missed it. His gentleness left
her cold.

"Monty," she exclaimed irritably, "you are terribly exasperating. Do
make up your mind that you and your million are not the only things in
the world."

His blood was up now, but it flung him away from her.

"Some day, perhaps, you'll find out that there is not much besides. I
am just a little too big, for one thing, to be played with and thrown
aside. I won't stand it."

He left the house with his head high in the air, angry red in his
cheeks, and a feeling in his heart that she was the most unreasonable
of women. Barbara, in the meantime, cried herself to sleep, vowing she
would never love Monty Brewster again as long as she lived.

A sharp cutting wind was blowing in Monty's face as he left the house.
He was thoroughly wretched.

"Throw up your hands!" came hoarsely from somewhere, and there was no
tenderness in the tones. For an instant Monty was dazed and bewildered,
but in the next he saw two shadowy figures walking beside him. "Stop
where you are, young fellow," was the next command, and he stopped
short. He was in a mood to fight, but the sight of a revolver made him
think again. Monty was not a coward, neither was he a fool. He was
quick to see that a struggle would be madness.

"What do you want?" he demanded as coolly as his nerves would