y Wade glanced at her narrowly. Clyde's face expressed nothing but
laughing amusement.

"Harrison has a high opinion of him," she said. "I believe his father
was supposed to be wealthy until after his death, when Mr. Dunne was a
boy. And he is very presentable. I think he deserves a great deal of
credit."

"So do I," Clyde agreed heartily. "I told Mr. Wade that I was prepared
to furnish whatever money was needed for this lawsuit of Mr. Dunne's."

"You did!" exclaimed Mrs. Wade. "Why, Clyde whatever for? How does it
concern you?"

And Clyde told her for the first time of her first meeting with Casey
Dunne.

"And you never told me!" Kitty Wade commented, as her husband had done.
"It's a real romance in real life. But I think you are the most
generous girl I ever heard of. If you were in love with him, of course
that would explain it. Aren't you, now--a little?"

"I'm not in love with him, Kitty--honestly I'm not," Clyde responded.
"I don't know whether I shall ever be or not. He did me a service which
I would like to repay. I have more money than I know what to do with.
If money would help him over a rough place it was up to me. At least,
that's how I looked at it. And as for going out to his country--why, I
want to, that's all. I want to see the country which produces that sort
of man. He's different from the others, somehow. I don't think he cares
whether I have money or not. He wasn't going to recall himself to me
till I practically recognized him. I know I'm good-looking and I know
he knows it, but I don't think he cares. And he'd never have written me
in this world or told me a thing about it himself if I hadn't written
him first and asked him to."

"Why, Clyde!" Kitty Wade exclaimed in amazement.

"That's exactly what I did," Clyde asseverated. "If I were in love with
him that would be the last thing I'd own up to, wouldn't it? Heavens
above! Kitty, I know it's unmaidenly by all the old standards. You're
married; you have your husband and your home and your interests. I have
none of these things. You can't realize how utterly purposeless and
idle and empty my life is. Just killing time. That was well enough a
few years ago, and I enjoyed it. But now I'm as old as you are. I want
something different from the daily and yearly round of sameness. If I
were a man I'd work sixteen hours a day. If I had any special talent
I'd cultivate it. But I haven't. I'm just an ordinary rich girl, in
danger of physical and m