oregoing effort, however, she was quite speechless.

"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Percy, chucking his gloves
toward the piano. He faced Anne once more, prepared to insist on full
satisfaction. The look in her eyes, however, caused him to refrain from
pursuing his tactics. He smiled in a sickly fashion and said, after a
moment devoted to reconstruction: "But, never mind, Anne; I was only
having a little fun bullying you. That's a man's privilege, don't you
know. We'll try it again to-morrow, if you say so."

"I have an engagement," said Anne briefly. The next instant she smiled.
"Next week perhaps, if you will allow me the privilege of forgetting
again."

"Oh, I say!" said Percy, blinking his eyes. How was he to take that sort
of talk? He didn't know. And for fear that he might say the wrong thing if
he attempted to respond to her humour, he turned to his mother and
remarked: "Don't wait for me, mother. Run along, do. I'm going to stop for
a chat with Anne."

As Mrs. Wintermill went out she met Simmy Dodge in the hall.

"Would you mind, Simmy dear, coming down to the automobile with me?" she
said quickly. "I--I think I feel a bit faint."

"I'll drive home with you, if you like," said the good Simmy,
solicitously.

CHAPTER XXIII

She saw by the evening papers that the operation on Marraville was to take
place the next day. That night she slept but little. When her maid roused
her from the slumber that came long after the sun was up, she immediately
called for the morning papers. In her heart she was hoping, almost praying
that they would report the death of James Marraville during the night.
Then, as she read with burning eyes, she found herself hoping against hope
that the old man would, at the last moment, refuse to undergo the
operation, or that some member of his family would protest. But even as
she hoped, she knew that there would be no objection on the part of either
Marraville or his children. He was an old man, he was fatally ill, he was
through with life. There would be no obstacle placed in the way of Death.
His time had come and there was no one to ask for a respite. He would die
under the knife and every one would be convinced that it was for the best.
As she sat up in bed, staring before her with bleak, unseeing eyes, she
had an inward vision of this rich man's family counting in advance the
profits of the day's business! Braden Thorpe was to be the only victim. He
was to be the