orearm._" Ryder leaned eagerly forward as
he asked her searchingly: "Now who told you that I had my arm
tattooed when I was a boy?"

"Have you?" laughed Shirley nervously. "What a curious
coincidence!"

"Let me read you another coincidence," said Ryder meaningly. He
turned to another part of the book and read: "_the same eternal
long black cigar always between his lips_ ..."

"General Grant smoked, too," interrupted Shirley. "All men who
think deeply along material lines seem to smoke."

"Well, we'll let that go. But how about this?" He turned back a
few pages and read: "_John Broderick had loved, when a young man,
a girl who lived in Vermont, but circumstances separated them._"
He stopped and stared at Shirley a moment and then he said: "I
loved a girl when I was a lad and she came from Vermont, and
circumstances separated us. That isn't coincidence, for presently
you make John Broderick marry a young woman who had money. I
married a girl with money."

"Lots of men marry for money," remarked Shirley.

"I said _with_ money, not for money," retorted Ryder. Then turning
again to the book, he said: "Now, this is what I can't understand,
for no one could have told you this but I myself. Listen." He read
aloud: "_With all his physical bravery and personal courage, John
Broderick was intensely afraid of death. It was on his mind
constantly._" "Who told you that?" he demanded somewhat roughly.
"I swear I've never mentioned it to a living soul."

"Most men who amass money are afraid of death," replied Shirley
with outward composure, "for death is about the only thing that
can separate them from their money."

Ryder laughed, but it was a hollow, mocking laugh, neither sincere
nor hearty. It was a laugh such as the devil may have given when
driven out of heaven.

"You're quite a character!" He laughed again, and Shirley,
catching the infection, laughed, too.

"It's me and it isn't me," went on Ryder flourishing the book.
"This fellow Broderick is all right; he's successful and he's
great, but I don't like his finish."

"It's logical," ventured Shirley.

"It's cruel," insisted Ryder.

"So is the man who reverses the divine law and hates his neighbour
instead of loving him," retorted Shirley.

She spoke more boldly, beginning to feel more sure of her ground,
and it amused her to fence in this way with the man of millions.
So far, she thought, he had not got the best of her. She was fast
becoming used to him, an