say it calmly." He was
quivering. "You don't know what you're talking about. I haven't the
patience to explain to you. It's none of your business. You keep away
from me. Now don't put any more strain on my self-control--in God's
name, don't do it, Linton!"

"I am making no secret of my hopes in regard to Miss Presson," stated
Linton, firmly. "I have been waiting until I could offer her what she
has been accustomed to. You have the advantage of me in money, Thornton.
But you're welcome to that! My hopes give me the right to guard her from
scandal. I insist that you relieve her of your presence to-morrow
evening!"

Harlan, shaken, gray with passion, his teeth set over his lower lip,
rushed to the door and threw it open.

"D--n you, you get on the outside!" he panted. "I'm in the mood to kill
you!"

Linton went. By his visit and his warning he had thrown a sop to his
conscience. He had approached Harlan Thornton with something like
desperation. Under his calmness he had long-hidden, consuming passion
for Madeleine Presson--a love that had grown through the years, and now
waited a fitting time of expression and the endorsement of assured
position. If he had any doubts of the truth of the shameful story he had
brought he concealed those doubts--he would not admit them to himself.
He proposed to win the girl. He chose any weapons that would rout the
interloper.

"I warn you that I shall protect her," he said, from the corridor.

"Take a warning from me, too: you get into my affairs, and you'll find
hell fires cooler!"

"Your affairs do seem to have that flavor," declared Linton, walking
away.

Thornton hurried to the headquarters that the corporations maintained in
the hotel for Spinney. Spinney was not there. He ran back to his room
and telephoned to the clerk of the hotel. He was informed that Mr.
Spinney had gone away for a few days.

It was late, but he threw on his coat and hastened up street to the
Presson home. The windows were dark. He did not have the assurance to
arouse the family at that time of night.

By that time, walking in the crisp air of the winter night, he had
soothed, somewhat, his fever of anger, sorrow, and shame.

Calmer, he had thoughts only for the bitter wrong that had been done
Clare Kavanagh. Somehow it seemed that all were leagued against her--and
him! Memory of her unselfishness, her simple faith in him, her
abnegation, her true, little-woman trust in his career--it all rushed
up