nounced briskly.

Vera had wearily dropped her arms upon the table and lowered her head
upon them. From a place down in the depths she murmured a protest.

"No," contradicted Winthrop cheerfully, "this time you are going to win.
You'll have back of you, If I do say it, two of the best women God ever
made. Only, now, you must do as I say." There was a pause. "Will you?"
he begged.

Vera raised her head slowly, holding her hand across her eyes. There was
a longer silence, and then she looked up at him and smiled pathetically,
gratefully, and nodded. "Good!" cried Winthrop. "No more spooks," he
laughed, "no more spirit rappings."

Through her tears Vera smiled up at him a wan, broken smile. She gave
a shudder of distaste. "Never!" she whispered. "I promise." Their eyes
met; the girl's looking into his shyly, gratefully; the man's searching
hers eagerly. And suddenly they saw each other with a new and wonderful
sympathy and understanding. Winthrop felt himself bending toward her. He
was conscious that the room had grown dark, and that he could see only
her eyes. "You must be just yourself," he commanded, but so gently, so
tenderly, that, though he did not know it, each word carried with it the
touch of a caress, "just your sweet, fine, noble self!"

Something he read in the girl's uplifted eyes made him draw back with
a shock of wonder, of delight, with an upbraiding conscience. To pull
himself together, he glanced quickly about him. The day had really grown
dark. He felt a sudden desire to get away; to go where he could ask
himself what had happened, what it was that had filled this unknown,
tawdry room with beauty and given it the happiness of a home.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed nervously, "I had no idea I'd stayed so long.
You'll not let me come again. Goodbye--until tomorrow." He turned,
holding out his hand, and found that again the girl had dropped her face
upon her arm, and was sobbing quietly, gently.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Winthrop. "What have I said?" The catch in the
girl's voice as she tried to check the sobs wrenched his heart. "Oh,
please," he begged, "I've said something wrong? I've hurt you?" With her
face still hidden in her arms, the girl shook her head.

"No, no!" she sobbed. Her voice, soft with tears, was a melody of sweet
and tender tones. "It's only--that I've been so lonely--and you've made
me happy, happy!"

The sobs broke out afresh, but Winthrop, now knowing that they brought
to the girl