ratulation as well."

Martha paused, her handkerchief poised in air.

"Yes; that unfortunate investment of yours turned out all right after
all. At least I secured your principal for you."

The surprised, glad color came into Martha's face. "How in the world
did you manage that, Calvin!" she ejaculated.

"I'll send you the papers and cash very soon."

"I don't know how to thank you. I really don't," stammered the visitor.

She had been very angry with her erstwhile lover a minute ago. The
revulsion of feeling bewildered her.

The judge rose, and she found herself following his example.

"You haven't told me a word what your judgment is about the girl," she
said, rather pitifully.

He nodded. "Your judgment will be the best. A woman is worth two men in
such a case. Carry out your plan, Martha. Interview her, and then we'll
see--we'll see."

He held open the office door for his visitor to pass out, and
woman-like her memory flew back. It seemed but yesterday that this man
was hanging on her looks, pleading for her love.

A fleeting glance at his expressionless face as he waited for her to
pass him was enough. Again her eyes swept the dingy anteroom. "Good-by,
Calvin, it's been a relief to talk to you," she said.

They shook hands. "If I'd married him," thought Miss Lacey, "that room
wouldn't look like that."

The judge softly closed the door behind her. "There, but for the grace
of God," he murmured devoutly, "goes Mrs. Calvin Trent." Then he
returned to his desk, put on his hat, and sat down at his work.

Before long Dunham returned. His employer beckoned him with a long,
bony finger.

The young man's eyes glistened, and he tiptoed forward obediently.

"What's the matter with you?" uneasily. "She--the lady has gone?"

"Certainly, Judge. I saw her just now disappearing up the street."

"Well, listen. I have decided not to go to Boston Wednesday morning.
You will go in my place."

"Yes?"

"Miss Lacey is going on the same train."

"Ah," Dunham nodded slowly and with becoming gravity.

"You will have a seat in the parlor car. She will not have. Martha
would think that nonsense; but her errand will be at the same place as
yours. My sister married her brother. Both are dead, and they have left
a daughter who has come out of the West to Boston to seek us. I suspect
there may be a good deal of wool clinging to her."

"A lamb, of course," murmured Dunham.

"The disposition of this girl is costing Mis