d for a little examining a blue-print tacked on the wall.

"That's like the one Mr. Gretzinger sometimes carries," she remarked.
"I suppose he'll be returning one of these days. Not that it matters;
he was tiresome at times, like Charlie Menocal." She studied the lines
of the map attentively. "He appeared anxious to get to New York. Said
something about a sweetheart there. You'll be glad if he doesn't come
back to bother you again, won't you, Lee dear?" She swung about,
laughing.

"Oh, he'll show up."

"I wasn't sure; he said he thought not."

Lee emptied and put away his pipe.

"He'll come," was his assured reply.

"Then he must have been 'kidding' me."

Her thoughtful air returned. She picked a raveling from her sleeve,
and stroked her fur, and inspected the tips of her gloves, and untied
and retied the strings of her cap--all with an inscrutable face. Then
suddenly her mind appeared to be made up.

"Well, dear, run and bring your car and we'll pick up Imogene," she
said, giving him a quick pat on the cheek.

Lee experienced an inward and involuntary shrinking at that touch. He
no more could have returned the caress than he could have risen off
the ground into the air, like those floating figures depicted in
sacred paintings. After all, she was quite capable of stirring a
sentiment in his heart--a sentiment of aversion.

"Go join Imo," he replied. "One of the boys will bring the car to the
hospital and take you home. Impossible for me to drive you there
to-day."

That was it--impossible, literally impossible, for his whole being was
in revolt. The threshold of the door might have been a dead-line; he
was unable to cross it, at any rate. With a stony aspect he watched
her depart and wave a hand back at him from a distance and at last
disappear. Then he closed the door and leaned his head against it,
with his features drawn in an expression of pain and desperation. His
position was diabolical. She meant to hold him to his word; she
believed he loved her; and, anyway, she had him fast in a coil. Yes,
she had him fast. And he did not love her, not at all. On the
contrary, he detested her--detested her with all his heart, almost to
hatred, utterly.

CHAPTER XXIII

"Will you be so kind as to come here?" Mr. Menocal inquired of Bryant.

It was an afternoon in late January, and the banker, bundled in a
great overcoat and numerous rugs, had reined his team to a halt at the
spot where he found the eng