call romantic expression. So I guess I'm not blind. You both think
you've fallen in love. That it?"

"Yes," replied the girl gravely. "I think that's about it, only I don't
agree with the 'gift of gab' and the 'romantic' end of it. He's a man
and I'm a woman, and we've both had our adventures. His are more
respectable than mine, that's all." Musingly, as if to herself, she
added: "I don't think, Will, that there can be much of that element
which some folk describe as hallucination. We know what we're about."

Picking up from the table a box of candies which the broker had brought
her, she selected one of the sugared delicacies and popped it in her
mouth. Brockton walked up and down with long, nervous strides. The
girl's calmness disconcerted him. With all his experience, he was at a
loss how to handle her. Perhaps he might try a final shot.

"Then the Riverside Drive proposition and Burgess's show offer are off,
eh?" he said sharply.

Hesitatingly she answered:

"I don't say that."

"And if you go back on the Overland Limited day after to-morrow," he
went on bitterly, "you'd just as soon I'd go to-morrow or wait until
the day after you leave!"

"I didn't say that, either," she replied, replacing the candy box on
the table.

He stopped short.

"What's the game?" he demanded impatiently.

"I can't tell you now."

"Waiting for him to come?"

"Exactly."

"Think he's serious, eh?"

"I know he is."

"Marriage?"

"Possibly."

He laughed ironically.

"You've tried that once," he said, "and taken the wrong end. Are you
going to play the same game again?"

"Yes--but with a different card," she answered.

"What's his name?"

"Madison--John Madison."

Picking up a magazine, she slowly turned the pages.

"And his job?"

"I told you--a reporter."

The broker gave a low and expressive whistle. Sarcastically he
inquired: "What are you going to live on--extra editions?"

"No, we're young, there's plenty of time," she answered calmly. "I can
work in the meantime and so can he. With his ability and my ability it
will only be a matter of a year or two when things will shape
themselves to make it possible."

Brockton chuckled to himself.

"Sounds well--a year off."

Irritated at his facetious tone and bantering manner, the girl plainly
showed her resentment. Her face flushed, and, throwing down the
magazine, she went towards the door of the house. Petulantly she cried:

"If I had thought you were