ushing penalty to
suffer for such little indiscretion. I was so excited to find you were
here--I never stopped to think. Don't send me away; please don't!"

Celia raised her head. "Well, shut the door, then," she said, "since you
are so anxious to stay. You would have done much better, though, very
much better indeed, to have taken the hint and gone away."

"Will you shake hands with me, Celia?" he asked softly, as he came near
her.

"Sit there, please!" she made answer, indicating a chair in the middle
of the room. He obeyed her, but to his surprise, instead of seating
herself as well, she began walking up and down the length of the floor
again. After a turn or two she stopped in front of him, and looked him
full in the eye. The light from the windows was on her countenance now,
and its revelations vaguely troubled him. It was a Celia he had never
seen before who confronted him.

"I am much occupied by other matters," she said, speaking with cold
impassivity, "but still I find myself curious to know just what limits
you set to your dishonesty."

Theron stared up at her. His lips quivered, but no speech came to them.
If this was all merely fond playfulness, it was being carried to a
heart-aching point.

"I saw you hiding about in the depot at home last evening," she went on.
"You come up here, pretending to have discovered me by accident, but I
saw you following me from the Grand Central this morning."

"Yes, I did both these things," said Theron, boldly. A fine bravery
tingled in his veins all at once. He looked into her face and found the
spirit to disregard its frowning aspect. "Yes, I did them," he repeated
defiantly. "That is not the hundredth part, or the thousandth part,
of what I would do for your sake. I have got way beyond caring for any
consequences. Position, reputation, the good opinion of fools--what are
they? Life itself--what does it amount to? Nothing at all--with you in
the balance!"

"Yes--but I am not in the balance," observed Celia, quietly. "That is
where you have made your mistake."

Theron laid aside his hat. Women were curious creatures, he reflected.
Some were susceptible to one line of treatment, some to another. His own
reading of Celia had always been that she liked opposition, of a smart,
rattling, almost cheeky, sort. One got on best with her by saying bright
things. He searched his brain now for some clever quip that would strike
sparks from the adamantine mood which for the mo