myself in a mental blind alley, and I am hoping that, if I talk it
over with you, I shall clear up my ideas and perhaps get some new ones."

His tone was dispassionate, yet kindly. With a pang, Miss Gannion
admitted to herself the futility of her ever hoping to gain so
impersonal an attitude. She was intensely feminine, which is to say,
intensely subjective. Talking to Thayer in his present mood gave her the
feeling that unexpectedly she had collided with an iceberg. Glittering
coldness is an admirable surface to watch; but not an altogether
comfortable one upon which to rest. The touch set her to stinging,
although she realized that the sting was out of all proportion to the
touch. She was silent, and Thayer went on,--

"You know the people, one of them much better than I do."

"Then it is not about yourself?"

Thayer shook his head.

"I rarely ask help in solving my own problems," he replied. Then, as he
saw her face, he suddenly realized that he had hurt her in some unknown
fashion. "That sounds rather brutal," he added; "but, if you will think
it over a bit, you will see it is wise. I don't believe in wasting
words, and there is no real use in talking some things over. A man knows
he can't state his own problem impartially to someone else, so of course
he isn't going to trust someone else's solution of the problem."

Her smile came back again.

"No," she assented; "but there is a certain comfort in talking things
over."

"Not for me. If I have anything to do, I grit my teeth and do it, and
waste as little thought upon it as possible. Iteration makes good into a
bore. It is best to let it alone. And of bad, the less said, the better,
that is, when it is a matter of one's own personality. But now I want
to talk about Miss Dane."

"Beatrix?"

"Yes. I have felt anxious about her lately, and I haven't known whether
to keep still, or to speak. It all seems a good deal like meddling, and
I really know her so little."

It was unlike his usual directness to wander on in this fashion, and
Miss Gannion wondered. She started to speak; then she thought better of
it and leaned back in her chair. The ticking of the clock and the
snapping of the fire mingled in a staccato duet. A stick burned in two
and fell apart, with tiny, torch-like flames dancing on its upturned
ends. Methodically Thayer bent over and piled up the embers. Then he
spoke again.

"And so I thought I would speak to you about it. You have known Miss