uch a place,
as the son of a millionaire, as a "college graduate," as an influential
man of affairs; he liked to imagine Amy as the wife of such another. In
short, Ditmar's wife had left him, as an unconscious legacy, her
aspirations for their children's social prestige....

The polished oak grandfather's clock in the hall had struck one before he
went to bed, mentally wearied by an unwonted problem involving, in
addition to self-interest, an element of ethics, of affection not wholly
compounded of desire.

He slept soundly, however. He was one of those fortunate beings who come
into the world with digestive organs and thyroid glands in that condition
which--so physiologists tell us--makes for a sanguine temperament. And
his course of action, though not decided upon, no longer appeared as a
problem; it differed from a business matter in that it could wait. As
sufficient proof of his liver having rescued him from doubts and qualms
he was able to whistle, as he dressed, and without a tremor of agitation,
the forgotten tune suggested to his consciousness during the unpleasant
reverie of the night before,--"Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage!" It was
Saturday. He ate a hearty breakfast, joked with George and Amy, and
refreshed, glowing with an expectation mingled with just the right amount
of delightful uncertainty that made the great affairs of life a gamble,
yet with the confidence of the conqueror, he walked in sunlight to the
mill. In view of this firm and hopeful tone of his being he found it all
the more surprising, as he reached the canal, to be seized by a
trepidation strong enough to bring perspiration to his forehead. What if
she had gone! He had never thought of that, and he had to admit it would
be just like her. You never could tell what she would do.

Nodding at Simmons, the watchman, he hurried up the iron-shod stairs,
gained the outer once, and instantly perceived that her chair beside the
window was empty! Caldwell and Mr. Price stood with their heads together
bending over a sheet on which Mr. Price was making calculations.

"Hasn't Miss Bumpus come yet?" Ditmar demanded. He tried to speak
naturally, casually, but his own voice sounded strange, seemed to strike
the exact note of sickening apprehension that suddenly possessed him.
Both men turned and looked at him in some surprise.

"Good-morning, Mr. Ditmar," Caldwell said. "Why, yes, she's in your
room."

"Oh!" said Ditmar.

"The Boston office has just b