as his plan to visit Grant
& Ripley on the afternoon of the twenty-second and to read the report
to them, in anticipation of the meeting with Jones on the day following.

Just before noon, after his encounter with Mrs. Gray, he came down
stairs and boldly, for the first time in days, sought out Peggy. There
was the old smile in his eye and the old heartiness in his voice when
he came upon her in the library. She was not reading. Books, pleasures
and all the joys of life had fled from her mind and she thought only of
the disaster that was coming to the boy she had always loved. His heart
smote him as he looked into the deep, somber, frightened eyes, running
over with love and fear for him.

"Peggy, do you think I'm worth anything more from your mother? Do you
think she will ask me to live here any longer?" he asked, steadily,
taking her hand in his. Hers was cold, his as hot as fire. "You know
what you said away off yonder somewhere, that she'd let me live here if
I deserved it. I am a pauper, Peggy, and I'm afraid I'll--I may have to
get down to drudgery again. Will she turn me out? You know I must have
somewhere to live. Shall it be the poorhouse? Do you remember saying
one day that I'd end in the poorhouse?"

She was looking into his eyes, dreading what might be seen in them. But
there was no gleam of insanity there, there was no fever; instead there
was the quiet smile of the man who is satisfied with himself and the
world. His voice bore traces of emotion, but it was the voice of one
who has perfect control of his wits.

"Is it all--gone, Monty?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"Here is the residue of my estate," he said, opening his purse with
steady fingers. "I'm back to where I left off a year ago. The million
is gone and my wings are clipped." Her face was white, her heart was in
the clutch of ice. How could he be so calm about it, when for him she
was suffering such agony? Twice she started to speak, but her voice
failed her. She turned slowly and walked to the window, keeping her
back to the man who smiled so sadly and yet so heartlessly.

"I didn't want the million, Peggy," he went on. "You think as the rest
do, I know, that I was a fool to act as I did. It would be rank idiocy
on my part to blame you any more than the others for thinking as you
do. Appearances are against me, the proof is overwhelming. A year ago I
was called a man, to-day they are stripping me of every claim to that
distinction. The