trasting this meeting with their
first. Her hand in his tonight was almost lifeless, and there was a
rebellious look in her dark eyes as she raised them briefly to his, he
fancied accusingly.

"I told you not to believe him!" was the mute cry in John's heart, where
little devils were beginning to cut and slash, but he smiled at her as
he clasped her hand warmly, and asked of her health.

"I am well, thank you."

How cold she was! She remained standing, although there was another
chair a short distance away. She did not look at him. She knew that she
was hurting him, but she could not help it. She had wanted him so much
the past week, and he had not come. And she had had nothing to do but
think. Marston's awful words never left her mind, and the more she dwelt
upon them the more clearly she became convinced that the love of her
life was centered upon John Glenning. She _would not_ believe that which
she had heard, but he had told her he had sinned--back there in Jericho!
But he had also said that he had fought through and had come out clean!
She had sobbed half of one night through in her distress, and had waited
day by day for him to come. At last, on the very eve of the day he did
come, she had given orders that she would not see him. But the sound of
his voice had melted her resolve. She stood before him now, her heart
hardened in that strange way which all lovers have, and which must
forever remain inexplicable, seemingly as unresponsive as a being of
marble.

"Miss Dudley!--Miss Julia!" pleaded John, purposely throwing a note of
tenderness in his voice, "what is wrong? Can you not tell me? I should
be so glad to do--anything for you!"

A tremor shot over her. How strong and good his voice was!

"Father is unwell, that is all," she answered, in the same
expressionless voice.

"For how long? Is it--anything to cause you worry?"

"No."

Colder than ever was the monosyllable, and Julia felt herself growing
wickeder and wickeder, and she knew that directly she would be bad
enough not to respond in any wise to whatever he might say.

But John had had some experience in this game of love. So he promptly
did the very best thing possible; he withdrew. He deliberately picked up
his hat and walked to the door, where he stopped and turned.

"I suspect I had better go, Miss Dudley," he announced, in a most formal
voice.

"Very well--if you wish," she added, with the adroitness of her sex.

"I have reason to beli