e, she had missed him.

Right here she marked a distinction between him and the others. She
missed him outside the office--not only at noon, but at night. When
she had opened that absurd box of flowers, she brought him into her
room with her. She saw now that at the precise moment she opened that
box she had lost her point of view. If she had wished to maintain it,
she should have promptly done the box up again and sent it back to
him.

After this their relation had changed. There could be no doubt about
that. However, except for the initial fault of not returning the
roses, she could not see where it was distinctly her fault. She had
gone on day after day, unaware that any significant change was taking
place. There had been the dinner at Jacques', and then--

With her chin in her hands, she sat by the open window and lived over
again those days. Her eyes grew afire and her cheeks grew rosy and a
great happiness thrilled her. So--until they reached that night at
Coney and Frances smiled through the dark at her.

Then she sprang to her feet and paced the floor, with the color gone
from her cheeks. During all those glorious days this other girl had
been in the background of his thoughts. It was for her he had been
working--of her he had been thinking. She clenched her hands and
faced the girl.

"Why didn't you stay home with him, then?" she cried. "You left him to
me and I took care of him. He'd have lost his position if it hadn't
been for me.

"I kept after him until he made good," she went on. "I saw that he
came to work on time, I showed him what to learn. It was I, not you,
that made him."

She was speaking out loud--fiercely. Suddenly she stopped. She raised
her eyes to the window--to the little star by the Big Dipper. Gently,
as a mother speaks, she said again:--

"I made him--not you."

Sally Winthrop sank into a chair. She began to cry--but softly now.

"You're mine, Don," she whispered. "You're mine because I took care of
you."

A keen breeze from the mountains swept in upon her. She rose and stole
across the hall to Mrs. Halliday's room. That good woman awoke with a
start.

"What is it?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I woke you," answered the girl. "But it's turned
cold, and I wondered if Don--if Mr. Pendleton had enough bedclothes."

"Laws sake," answered Mrs. Halliday. "I gave him two extra comforters,
and if that ain't enough he deserves to freeze."

CHAPTER XXXI

SALLY DECIDE