an you show as your life work? Most men whose lives
are big enough to call for biographies have done something
useful--they have been famous statesmen, eminent scientists,
celebrated authors, great inventors. What have you done?"

The question appeared to stagger him. The audacity of any one
putting such a question to a man in his own house was incredible.
He squared his jaws and his clenched fist descended heavily on the
table.

"What have I done?" he cried. "I have built up the greatest
fortune ever accumulated by one man. My fabulous wealth has caused
my name to spread to the four corners of the earth. Is that not an
achievement to relate to future generations?"

Shirley gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

"Future generations will take no interest in you or your
millions," she said calmly. "Our civilization will have made such
progress by that time that people will merely wonder why we, in
our day, tolerated men of your class so long. Now it is different.
The world is money-mad. You are a person of importance in the eyes
of the unthinking multitude, but it only envies you your fortune;
it does not admire you personally. When you die people will count
your millions, not your good deeds."

He laughed cynically and drew up a chair near her desk. As a
general thing, John Ryder never wasted words on women. He had but
a poor opinion of their mentality, and considered it beneath the
dignity of any man to enter into serious argument with a woman. In
fact, it was seldom he condescended to argue with anyone. He gave
orders and talked to people; he had no patience to be talked to.
Yet he found himself listening with interest to this young woman
who expressed herself so frankly. It was a decided novelty for him
to hear the truth.

[Photo, from the play, of Mr. Ryder discussing his son
with Miss Green.]

"Marry Jefferson yourself."--Act III.

"What do I care what the world says when I'm dead?" he asked with
a forced laugh.

"You do care," replied Shirley gravely. "You may school yourself
to believe that you are indifferent to the good opinion of your
fellow man, but right down in your heart you do care--every man
does, whether he be multi-millionaire or a sneak thief."

"You class the two together, I notice," he said bitterly.

"It is often a distinction without a difference," she rejoined
promptly.

He remained silent for a moment or two toying nervously with a
paper knife. Then, arrogantly, and