arly dark and threatening.

In the spring of the year they gathered to their climax. One afternoon
Gorst appeared in Majendie's office, sat down with a stricken air, and
appealed to his friend to help him out.

"I thought you _were_ out," said Majendie.

"So I am. It's because I'm so well out that I'm in for it. Evans's have
turned her off. She's down on her luck--and--well--you see, _now_ she
wants me to marry her."

"I see. Well--"

"Well, of course I can't. Maggie's a dear little thing, but--you see--I'm
not the first."

"You're sure of that?"

"Certain. She confessed, poor girl. Besides, I knew it. I'm not a brute.
I'd marry her if I'd been the first and only one. I'd marry her if I were
sure I'd be the last. I'd marry her, as it is, if I cared enough for her.
Always provided I could keep her. But you know--"

"You don't care and you can't keep her. What are you going to do for
her?"

Gorst in his anguish glared at Majendie.

"I can't do anything. That's the damnedest part of it. I'm simply cleaned
out, till I get a berth somewhere."

Majendie looked grave. This time the prodigal had devoured his living.
"You're going to leave her there, then. Is that it?"

"No, it isn't. There's another fellow who'd marry her, if she'd have him,
but she won't. That's it."

"Because she's fond of you, I suppose?"

"Oh, I don't know about being fond," said Gorst sulkily. "She's fond of
anybody."

"And what do you want me to do?"

"I'd be awfully glad if you'd go and see her."

"See her?"

"Yes, and explain the situation. I can't. She won't let me. She goes mad
when I try. She keeps on worrying at it from morning to night. When I
don't go, she writes. And it knocks me all to pieces."

"If she's that sort, what good do you suppose I'll do by seeing her?"

"Oh, she'll listen to reason from any one but me. And there are things
you can say to her that I can't. I say, will you?"

"I will if you like. But I don't suppose it will do one atom of good. It
never does, you know. Where does the woman live?"

He took down the address on the visiting-card that Gorst gave him.

Between six and seven that evening he presented himself at one of many
tiny, two-storied, red brick and stucco houses that stood in a long flat
street, each with a narrow mat of grass laid before its bay-window. It
was the new quarter of the respectable milliners and clerks; and Majendie
gathered that the prodigal had taken some pains to lodge hi