e come here, but I knew of no other way. It seemed best
to see you to-night."

"It's all right," he replied indifferently.

He sat drooping, as though the light had in itself a weight that bore
him down. His face was gray; his hands hung impotently from the arms of
his chair. He still did not meet her eyes, which had taken in every line
of his figure, the little details of his dress, even the inconspicuous
pearl pin thrust through the loose ends of his tie. A man opened the
door hurriedly and peered in: Bassett was wanted elsewhere, he said.
Without rising Bassett bade him wait outside. The man seemed to
understand that he was to act as guard, and he began patroling the
corridor. The sound of his steps on the tiles was plainly
distinguishable as he passed the door.

"It's all right now," Bassett explained. "No one will come in here."

He threw his arm over the back of his chair and bent upon Sylvia a
glance of mingled curiosity and indifference.

"I understand," she said quietly, "that nothing has been done. It is
not yet too late. The situation here is as it has been?"

"Yes; if you mean out _there_. They are waiting for me."

"I suppose Mr. Harwood is there, and Mr. Thatcher."

He blinked at the names and changed his position slightly.

"I dare say they are," he answered coldly.

"I thought it best to see you and talk to you; and I'm glad I knew
before it was too late."

His eyes surveyed her slowly now from head to foot. Why was she glad she
had known before it was too late? Her calmness made him uneasy,
restless. It was a familiar characteristic of Morton Bassett that he met
storm and stress stoically. He was prepared for scorn, recrimination,
tears; but this dark-eyed girl, sitting before him in her gray
walking-dress and plain hat with a bunch of scarlet flowers showing
through the veil she had caught up over them, seemed in no danger of
yielding to tears. Her voice fell in cool, even tones. He had said that
he expected her, but she did not know what manner of meeting he had been
counting on in his speculations. After a long look he passed his hand
across his face.

"I hope you haven't thought--you didn't think I should let them bring
you into it."

He spoke as though this were something due her; that she was entitled to
his reassurance that the threatened cataclysm should not drag her down
with him. When she made no reply he seemed to feel that he had not made
himself clear, and he repeated, in ot