ave to do to save your
father's name is to sit down in the lap of luxury; not a very hard
thing to do, I should think. You'll find that I'll take--" The speaker
paused, for another sound now broke in upon the click of the lawn-mower,
an increasingly sharp noise which brought him to his feet and to one of
the many windows which gave him a view in every direction.

A motor-cycle was speeding up the driveway.

"That's Sam Foster comin' to pay his rent," he said. "There'll be many a
one on that errand along about now," he declared with satisfaction.
"Cheer up," he added, turning back to the pale face and tremulous lips
of the young girl. "Your father wasn't the first fine man to go wrong;
but they don't all have somebody to stick by 'em and shield 'em as he
did. The more you think it over, the more--"

The motor-cycle had stopped during this declaration, and the rider now
stepped into the office-door. Geraldine, her hands still unconsciously
on her heart, gazed at the newcomer. Could it be that Rufus Carder had a
tenant like this youth? The well-born, the well-bred, showed in his
erect bearing and in his sunny brown eyes, and the smile that matched
them.

The owner started and scowled at sight of him.

"Mr. Carder, I believe," said the visitor.

Rufus's chair grated as he advanced to edge the stranger back through
the door.

"Your business, sir," he said roughly. "Can't you see I'm in the midst
of an interview?"

Ben's eyes never left those of the young girl, and hers clung to him
with a desperate appeal impossible to mistake. She rose from her chair
as if to go to him.

"Yes, Mr. Carder, and I won't interrupt you. I'll wait outside. I came
to see Miss Melody with a message from one of her friends and I'm sure
from the description that this is she." The young fellow bowed
courteously toward Geraldine, who stood mute drinking in the inflections
of his voice; the very pronunciation of his words were earmarks of the
world of refinement from which she was exiled. In her distraction she
was unconscious of the manner in which she was gazing at him above the
tumult of grief at her father's double treachery. Her father had sold
her, sold her in cold blood, and her life was ruined. Had the visitor in
his youth and strength and grace been Sir Galahad himself, she could not
have yearned more toward his protection.

To Ben she looked, as she stood there, like a lovely lily in a green
calyx, and her expression made his hand