y Philipse. It merely happens that my
name is the same. I'm simply a friend visiting here. Can't I show you
the house? It's rather interesting."

If Ellis was a novelty to the woman, she was equally so to him.
Unconventionality reigned in that house, and they were together an
hour. Never before in his life had Ellis learned so much, nor caught
so many glimpses of things beyond, in an equal length of time. His
idea of woman had been trite, a little vague. He had no ideal; he had
simply accepted, without question, the one specimen he had known
well.

In an uncertain sort of way he had thought of the sex as being
invariably creatures of unquestioned virtue, but of mind somewhat
defective; who were to be respected and protected, loved perhaps with
the love animals know; but of such an one as this he had no
conception.

Here was a woman, younger than he, whose unconscious familiarity with
things, which to him lay hidden in the dark land of ignorance,
affected him like a stimulant. A woman who had read and travelled and
thought and felt; whose mind met him even in the unhesitating
confidence of knowledge--it is no wonder that he was in a dream. It
turned his little world upside down: so brief a time had elapsed since
he had cursed woman for bringing crime into his life, in the
narrowness of his ignorance thinking them all alike. He was in the
presence of a superior, and his own smallness came over him like a
flood.

He mentally swore, then and there, with a tightening of his jaw that
meant finality, that he would raise himself to her plane. The girl saw
the look, and wondered at it.

That night, at parting, the eyes of the two met. A moment passed--and
another, and neither spoke a word. Then a smile broke over the face of
Mary Philipse, and it was answered on the face of the man. Equals had
met equals. At last the girl held out her hand.

"Call again, please," she requested. "Good-night."

Years passed. Burr had gone and returned again, and Jumel mansion had
waxed festive to honor his home-coming. Then he opened an office in
the city, and drab-colored routine fell upon him--to remain.

Meanwhile Time had done much for Ellis--rather, it had allowed him to
do much for himself. He had passed through all the stages of
transition--confusion, homesickness, despondency; but incentive to do
was ever with him.

At first he had worked to forget, and, in self-defence; but Nature had
been kind, and with years memory touched