loss. He permitted her to think that he meant to return directly to his
office, but when he came out to the open air he told the chauffeur in
attendance to await him in front of Mr. Vertrees's house, whither he
himself proceeded on foot.

Mr. Vertrees had taken the sale of half of his worthless stock as
manna in the wilderness; it came from heaven--by what agency he did
not particularly question. The broker informed him that "parties were
interested in getting hold of the stock," and that later there might
be a possible increase in the value of the large amount retained by his
client. It might go "quite a ways up" within a year or so, he said, and
he advised "sitting tight" with it. Mr. Vertrees went home and prayed.

He rose from his knees feeling that he was surely coming into his own
again. It was more than a mere gasp of temporary relief with him, and
his wife shared his optimism; but Mary would not let him buy back her
piano, and as for furs--spring was on the way, she said. But they paid
the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker, and hired a cook
once more. It was this servitress who opened the door for Sheridan and
presently assured him that Miss Vertrees would "be down."

He was not the man to conceal admiration when he felt it, and he flushed
and beamed as Mary made her appearance, almost upon the heels of the
cook. She had a look of apprehension for the first fraction of a second,
but it vanished at the sight of him, and its place was taken in her eyes
by a soft brilliance, while color rushed in her cheeks.

"Don't be surprised," he said. "Truth is, in a way it's sort of on
business I looked in here. It'll only take a minute, I expect."

"I'm sorry," said Mary. "I hoped you'd come because we're neighbors."

He chuckled. "Neighbors! Sometimes people don't see so much o' their
neighbors as they used to. That is, I hear so--lately."

"You'll stay long enough to sit down, won't you?"

"I guess I could manage that much." And they sat down, facing each other
and not far apart.

"Of course, it couldn't be called business, exactly," he said, more
gravely. "Not at all, I expect. But there's something o' yours it seemed
to me I ought to give you, and I just thought it was better to bring it
myself and explain how I happened to have it. It's this--this letter you
wrote my boy." He extended the letter to her solemnly, in his left hand,
and she took it gently from him. "It was in his mail, after he was hur