im was that his only
regret would be over failure to achieve his own ends. He struck her as
being an individual whose own personal desires were paramount. She had
heard vague stories of his tenacity of purpose, his disregard of
anything and everybody but himself. The gossip she had heard and half
forgotten had been recalled and confirmed by her own recent experience
with him.

Nevertheless, she considered that particular episode closed. She
believed that she had convinced him of that. And so she could not
grasp the reason for that eleventh-hour summons. But she could see
that a repetition of such incidents might put her in a queer light.
Other folk might begin to wonder and inquire why Mr. Andrew Bush took
such an "interest" in her--a mere stenographer. Well, she told
herself, she did not care--so long as Jack Barrow's ears were not
assailed by talk. She smiled at that, for she could picture the
reception any scandal peddler would get from _him_.

The next day's papers contained the obituary of Mr. Andrew Bush. He
had died shortly after midnight. And despite the fact that she held no
grudge, Hazel felt a sense of relief. He was powerless to annoy or
persecute her, and she could not escape the conviction that he would
have attempted both had he lived.

She had now been idle a matter of days. Nearly three months were yet
to elapse before her wedding. She and Barrow had compromised on that
after a deal of discussion. Manlike, he had wished to be married as
soon as she accepted him, and she had held out far a date that would
permit her to accumulate a trousseau according to her means.

"A girl only gets married once, Johnnie-boy," she had declared. "I
don't want to get married so--so offhand, like going out and buying a
pair of gloves or something. Even if I do love you ever so much."

She had gained her point after a lot of argument. There had been no
thought then of her leaving Harrington & Bush so abruptly. Jack had
wanted to get the license as soon as he learned that she had thrown up
her job. But she refused to reset the date. They had made plans for
October. There was so sense in altering those plans.

It seemed scarcely worth while to look for another position. She had
enough money saved to do everything she wanted to do. It was not so
much lack of money, the need to earn, as the monotony of idleness that
irked her. She had acquired the habit of work, and that is a thing not
lightly sha