he left after four days and was absent from Cleveland
for three weeks. Jennie thought he was gone for good, and she
experienced a queer sense of relief as well as of regret. Then,
suddenly, he returned. He came apparently unexpectedly, explaining to
Mrs. Bracebridge that business interests again demanded his presence
in Cleveland. As he spoke he looked at Jennie sharply, and she felt as
if somehow his presence might also concern her a little.

On this second visit she had various opportunities of seeing him,
at breakfast, where she sometimes served, at dinner, when she could
see the guests at the table from the parlor or sitting-room, and at
odd times when he came to Mrs. Bracebridge's boudoir to talk things
over. They were very friendly.

"Why don't you settle down, Lester, and get married?" Jennie heard
her say to him the second day he was there. "You know it's time."

"I know," he replied, "but I'm in no mood for that. I want to
browse around a little while yet."

"Yes, I know about your browsing. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself. Your father is really worried."

He chuckled amusedly. "Father doesn't worry much about me. He has
got all he can attend to to look after the business."

Jennie looked at him curiously. She scarcely understood what she
was thinking, but this man drew her. If she had realized in what way
she would have fled his presence then and there.

Now he was more insistent in his observation of her--addressed
an occasional remark to her--engaged her in brief, magnetic
conversations. She could not help answering him--he was pleasing
to her. Once he came across her in the hall on the second floor
searching in a locker for some linen. They were all alone, Mrs.
Bracebridge having gone out to do some morning shopping and the other
servants being below stairs. On this occasion he made short work of
the business. He approached her in a commanding, unhesitating, and
thoroughly determined way.

"I want to talk to you," he said. "Where do you live?"

"I--I--" she stammered, and blanched perceptibly. "I live
out on Lorrie Street."

"What number?" he questioned, as though she were compelled to tell
him.

She quailed and shook inwardly. "Thirteen fourteen," she replied
mechanically.

He looked into her big, soft-blue eyes with his dark, vigorous
brown ones. A flash that was hypnotic, significant, insistent passed
between them.

"You belong to me," he said. "I've been looking for you. When can