recognition. Glancing at it, Cowperwood jumped to his
feet and hurried down-stairs into the one presence he most craved.

There are compromises of the spirit too elusive and subtle to be traced
in all their involute windings. From that earliest day when Berenice
Fleming had first set eyes on Cowperwood she had been moved by a sense
of power, an amazing and fascinating individuality. Since then by
degrees he had familiarized her with a thought of individual freedom of
action and a disregard of current social standards which were
destructive to an earlier conventional view of things. Following him
through this Chicago fight, she had been caught by the wonder of his
dreams; he was on the way toward being one of the world's greatest
money giants. During his recent trips East she had sometimes felt that
she was able to read in the cast of his face the intensity of this
great ambition, which had for its ultimate aim--herself. So he had
once assured her. Always with her he had been so handsome, so
pleading, so patient.

So here she was in Chicago to-night, the guest of friends at the
Richelieu, and standing in Cowperwood's presence.

"Why, Berenice!" he said, extending a cordial hand.

"When did you arrive in town? Whatever brings you here?" He had once
tried to make her promise that if ever her feeling toward him changed
she would let him know of it in some way. And here she was
to-night--on what errand? He noted her costume of brown silk and
velvet--how well it seemed to suggest her cat-like grace!

"You bring me here," she replied, with an indefinable something in her
voice which was at once a challenge and a confession. "I thought from
what I had just been reading that you might really need me now."

"You mean--?" he inquired, looking at her with vivid eyes. There he
paused.

"That I have made up my mind. Besides, I ought to pay some time."

"Berenice!" he exclaimed, reproachfully.

"No, I don't mean that, either," she replied. "I am sorry now. I think
I understand you better. Besides," she added, with a sudden gaiety
that had a touch of self-consolation in it, "I want to."

"Berenice! Truly?"

"Can't you tell?" she queried.

"Well, then," he smiled, holding out his hands; and, to his amazement,
she came forward.

"I can't explain myself to myself quite," she added, in a hurried low,
eager tone, "but I couldn't stay away any longer. I had the feeling
that you might be going to lose here for th