ndow. The snow had begun to fall again,
and the lights of the little hamlet below showed but dimly through the
white blur.

"I want you to know," said the girl, "that I trust you now. And when the
time comes, as it will soon--to-night--I am going to ask you to help me.
I may ask a rather big thing, and ask you to do it blindly, just
trusting in me, as I refused to trust in you." She stopped and looked
very seriously into Mr. Magee's face.

"I'm mighty glad," he answered in a low tone. "From the moment I saw you
weeping in the station I've wanted to be of help to you. The station
agent advised me not to interfere. He said to become involved with a
weeping woman meant trouble. The fool. As though any trouble--"

"He was right," put in the girl, "it probably will mean trouble."

"As though any storm," finished Mr. Magee "would not be worth the
rainbow of your smile at the end."

"A very fancy figure," laughed she. "But storms aren't nice."

"There are a few of us," replied Magee, "who can be merry through the
worst of them because of the rainbow to come."

For answer, she flattened her finely-modeled nose into shapelessness
against the cold pane. Back of them in the candle-lighted room, the
motley crew of Baldpate's winter guests stood about in various attitudes
of waiting. In front of the fire the holder of the Chair of Comparative
Literature quoted poetry to Mrs. Norton, and probably it never occurred
to the old man that the woman to whom he talked was that nightmare of
his life--a peroxide blonde. Ten feet away in the flickering half-light,
the immense bulk of the mayor of Reuton reposed on the arm of a leather
couch, and before him stood his lithe unpleasant companion, Lou Max,
side by side with Mr. Bland, whose talk of haberdashery was forever
stilled. The candles sputtered, the storm angrily rattled the windows;
Mr. Peters flitted like a hairy wraith about the table. So the strange
game that was being played at Baldpate Inn followed the example of good
digestion and waited on appetite.

What Mr. Magee flippantly termed his dinner party was seated at last,
and there began a meal destined to linger long in the memories of those
who partook if it. Puzzled beyond words, the host took stock of his
guests. Opposite him, at the foot of the table, he could see the lined
tired face of Mrs. Norton, dazed, uncomprehending, a little frightened.
At his right the great red acreage of Cargan's face held defiance and
some a