s done.

That is hardly fair, though. He had another thought, one which had come
into his heart--a small one--when the late Mr Thorne had brought him
home one day to dinner and to discuss some monetary scheme. That
thought had been to make Hazel Thorne his wife, and he had nursed it in
silence till it grew into a great plant which overshadowed his life.

He had seen Hazel light and merry, and had been a witness, at the little
evenings at the house in Kensington, of the attentions to her paid by
Archibald Graves. He knew, too, that they pleased Hazel; and as he saw
her brightened eyes and the smiles she bestowed, the hard, cold City man
bit his lips and felt sting after sting in his heart.

"Boy-and-girl love," he muttered though, when he was alone. "It will
not last, and I can wait."

So Edward Geringer waited, and in his visits he was in Hazel's eyes only
her father's friend, to whom she was bright and merry, taking his
presents of fruit and flowers, concert tickets, and even of a ring and
locket, just as one of her little sisters might have taken a book or
toy. "Oh, _thank_ you, Mr Geringer; it was so good of you!" That was
all; and the cold calm, calculating man said to himself: "She's very
young--a mere child yet; and I can wait."

And now he had come, as soon as he felt it prudent after the funeral, to
find that he had waited and that Hazel Thorne was no longer a child; and
as he saw her in her plain, close-fitting mourning, and the sweet pale
face full of care and trouble, he rose to meet her, took both her hands
in his, and kissed them with a reverence that won her admiration and
respect. "My dear Hazel," he said softly.

She did not think it strange, but suffered him to lead her to a chair
and saw him take one before her. He was her father's old friend, and
she was ready to look up to him for help and guidance in her present
strait.

For some minutes they sat in silence, for she could not trust herself to
speak, and Geringer waited till she should be more composed.

At last he spoke.

"Hazel, my dear child," he said.

"My dear child!" What could have been kinder and better! It won her
confidence at once. Her father's old friend would help and counsel her,
for she needed the help much; and Archibald had seemed since those
terrible days to be thoughtless and selfish instead of helpful.

"I have come to talk to you, Hazel, on very grave matters," Geringer
went on; and she bowed her head for