on.
No power short of fire or an earthquake could have moved him now. Every
fragment of the indomitable perseverance of his nature was aroused, and
instead of discouraging him each minute as it passed only made his
determination the stronger. He shifted his chair so that it faced the
window and the street, crossed his legs comfortably, half closed his
eyes, resting yet watchful, and meditatively observed the growing
procession of homeward bound wage-earners in car and on foot.

Suddenly there was the rustle of a woman's skirts, and he was conscious
that he was no longer alone. He turned as he saw who it was, sprang to
his feet, and despite the intentional slight of the long wait, a smile
flashed to his face. He started to advance, but stopped.

"You wished to see me, I understand," a voice said coldly, as the
speaker halted just within the doorway.

Ben Blair straightened. The hot blood mounted to his brain, throbbing at
his throat and temples. It was not easy for him to receive insult; but
outwardly he gave no sign.

"I think I have demonstrated the fact you mention," he replied calmly.

Florence Baker clasped her hands together. "Yes, your persistency is
admirable," she said.

Ben Blair caught the word. "Persistency," he remarked, "seems the only
recourse when past friendship and common courtesy are ignored."

Florence made no reply, and going forward Ben placed a chair
deferentially. "It seems necessary for me to reverse the position of
host and guest," he said. "Won't you be seated?"

The girl did not stir.

"I hardly think it necessary," she answered.

"Florence," Ben Blair's great chin lifted meaningly, "I will not be
offended whatever you may do. I have something I wish to say to you.
Please sit down."

The girl hesitated, and almost against her will looked the man fairly in
the eyes, while her own blazed. Once more she felt his dominance
controlling her, felt as she did when, in what seemed the very long ago,
he had spread his blanket for her upon the prairie earth.

She sat down.

Ben drew up another chair and sat facing her. "Why," he was leaning a
bit forward, his elbow on his knee, "why, Florence Baker, have you done
everything in your power to prevent my seeing you? What have I done of
late, what have I ever done, to deserve this treatment from you?"

The girl evaded his eyes. "It is not usually considered necessary for a
lady to give her reasons for not wishing to see a gentleman," she
p