ou are entitled to a share in such
property as your late husband possessed. How much, or how little, he did
possess I cannot say. But I assume that such share of it as may accrue,
will be--ha!--adequate for you."

"But he hadn't anything. He told me so."

"He didn't always tell you the truth though, did he? In any event it is
probable that he left enough to provide for your maintenance."

Cassy threw up her hands. "Never in the world."

Dunwoodie again ran his eyes over the severity of her costume. "You
think it would be inadequate?"

But Cassy was angry. "I don't think anything about it. Whether it would
or would not be adequate, does not make the slightest difference. I
won't take it."

"Ha! And why not?"

Cassy fumed. "Why not? But isn't it evident? That man had no intention
of marrying me, no intention whatever of leaving me a cent."

"As it happens, he did both."

Cassy clenched her small fist. "No matter. He did not intend to and
don't you see if I were to accept a ha'penny of his wretched money, I
would be benefiting by a crime for which may God forgive my poor, dear
father."

There was a point which the legislature had not considered, which not
one of all the New York Reports construed, a point not of law but of
conscience, a point for a tribunal other than that which sits in banco.
It floored Dunwoodie.

Damnation, she's splendid, he decided as, mentally, he picked himself
up. But it would never do to say so and he turned on her his famous
look.

"Madam, once your marriage is established, the money becomes rightfully
and legally yours, unless----"

With that look he was frowning at this handsome girl who took law and
order with such a high hand. But behind the frown was a desire, which he
restrained, to hug her.

Frowning still he looked from Cassy to the door and there at a boy, who
was poking through it a nose on which freckles were strewn thick as
bran.

"Mr. Rymple, sir, says he has an appointment."

The old ruffian, rising, turned to Cassy. "One moment, if you please."

The door, caught in a draught, slammed after him, though less violently
than other doors that were slamming still. Would they never stop? Cassy
wondered. Would they slam forever? Were there no rooms in life where she
might enter and find the silence that is peace? Surely, some time,
somewhere that silence might be hers.

She turned. Jones, looking extremely disagreeable, was walking in.

Cassy, closing her ears to