now. Later we can arrange."

She offered no objection, accepting everything suggested as a matter of
course. Having sold herself, as it were, to the highest bidder, it was
not her place to raise any further obstacles. Dispassionately,
therefore, she said:

"Will, we'll always be frank. I said I was ready to go. It's up to
you--when and where."

He smiled, surprised to find her so tractable.

"The hotel scheme is the best, but, Laura----"

"Yes?"

He looked at her keenly, trying to penetrate beneath the surface of her
almost unnatural calm. He did not wish to be fooled again.

"You're quite sure this is in earnest?" he demanded. "You don't want to
change? You've time enough now."

She shook her head.

"I've made up my mind. It's final," she said positively.

"If you want to work," he went on, "Burgess has a nice part for you.
I'll telephone and arrange if you say so."

"Please do. Say I'll see him in the morning."

The broker rose and paced nervously up and down the room. So far so
good, but he had not yet finished. There was still something unpleasant
that must be attended to before all was settled, and now was the proper
and only time to do it. Turning abruptly, he said:

"Laura, you remember when we were in Denver----"

Starting forward, the girl raised one hand entreatingly. For the moment
her studied quiet was laid aside.

"Please, please don't speak of that!" she cried.

Brockton stood still, looking her squarely in the eyes. His manner was
extremely serious and determined.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I've got to." Slowly and deliberately he
went on: "Last summer, in Denver, I told John Madison that if this time
ever came--when you would return to me of your own free will--I'd have
you write him the truth. Before we go any further, I'd like you to do
that--now."

Even under her cosmetics, the girl grew a shade paler. In a trembling,
uncertain voice, she faltered:

"Say good-by?"

"Just that," said Brockton firmly.

She looked distressed. The muscles about the corners of her mouth
worked convulsively.

"I wouldn't know how to begin. It will hurt him terribly."

"It will be worse if you don't," insisted the broker. "He'll like you
the better for telling him. It would be honest, and that is what he
expects."

She knew he was right, and that there was no way out of it, yet this
was the hardest ordeal of all. In her heart she knew she was
lying--lying to Brockton, lying to John, lying t